


Blossom words

by chill_mee



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Camp Half-Blood, F/M, Next Generation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 74,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1251346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chill_mee/pseuds/chill_mee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is not perfect, and neither are they. But love doesn't need to be perfect to feel right and to make a great story. This is a story one of Demeter's children, who was captivated by Leo and Calypso's youngest daughter: Marisol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pretty boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glossary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glossary/gifts).



> The character of Marisol was first created after writing an AU for a previous fanfic, in which my OC Affie actually gets to marry Leo and form a family with him. She (Marisol) was not meant to be Calypso's daughter, but I adapted it to stick better to canon. I apologise for any discrepancies that there might be between Calypso and her daughter. I tried to fix Marisol up to her new mother, but I cared more about keeping her spirit intact. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy.

> “ _Love that stammers, that stutters, is apt to be the love that loves best._ ” –Gabriela Mistral.

Her dark eyes shone with excitement. Nobody could stop her now. Not even the leaves dared to creak under her feet. Then again, Marisol had light feet, even for her feathered weight. Her tiny figure stepped closer. Close enough to see the guard, the one and only, standing too close to the flag. _That_ , she thought, _is cheating_. She popped in front of the guard without giving him time to realise what was happening. Two strokes of her experienced sword brought him down. Her heart beat faster. It was just one of the many times Marisol Valdez had picked up the flag and won for her team, but the adrenaline it gave her was what she lived on. Capture-the-flag-Fridays and bad boys summed her up pretty well. The boy on the ground was moaning in pain, he’d sprained his ankle, maybe. She helped him up, Marisol was not heartless. After making sure he was okay, she disappeared.

She was not even a blur, her leg muscles contracting and retracting as she moved, smoothly outlined under her skin. She was a few metres away from the creek which would let her win. She encountered Henry Stoll, who was leaning against a tree. They were in the same team, but the look Marisol shot him gave no clue about it.

“Move” she told him, as he stood in front of her, blocking her path. He raised his chin, his brown hair falling over his eyes, which shone with that kind of malice that makes girls go crazy, which had made _her_ go crazy. Not anymore, though. Bad boy madness lasted until she got her heart broken, then she was free.

“Just give it to me, babe. Let me claim triumph for myself.” Had he asked so last summer, Marisol would have willingly done it. She had done it.

“Go fuck yourself” she answered. She proceeded to slash at him, fearlessly and furiously with her blade, making him step back long enough for her to run away. To make him look like an idiot. She crossed the creek, and took off her helmet, exhausted. Bursting with the energy of winning, holding the flag tightly in one hand. She made sure her glossy, curly black ponytail was in place. She waited for the cheering and ‘hurray’s!’ but they didn’t come. Everybody ran to Sebastián instead. She glared at him, her dark eyes poisonous with jealousy.

“You were amazing!” Someone told him.

“How you stopped that guy from catching Marisol? Flawless.” Said another one.

“Your aim is just so perfect.” A girl giggled. Marisol frowned and threw the flag to the dirt at her feet. It didn’t matter anymore. Two friendly faces walked up to her. Marisol smiled widely at both of them.

“We know you’re the real hero.” Evan told her.

“That guy wasn’t even near to stop you, Marie.” Kristin agreed. Marisol stared back and forth from the sword hanging from a strap around his brother’s waist and her own blade. She smiled. _Mine is better_ , she noted.

 

Her cabin was crowded and that might have been the only thing Marisol disliked about Camp Half-Blood. But even having no personal space was half as mortifying for her as it was having her brother Sebastián looking after her.

She woke up, and rolled a bit, sleepy, crushing Evan sleeping next to her. He groaned. She rolled to the other side and crushed David, Aunt Lou and Uncle Malcolm’s son. She hated this. Not being able to roll in the morning, without crushing someone. Not being able to avoid hearing a thousand giggles and such coming from every corner of the cabin. But she could bear it; she _did_ bear it, every summer. What she could not stand was her brother sneaking into her private life. He wanted to know who was she dating now, so he could beat him down; trying to decide which campers were worthy of being her friends. It had been like this since her parents had sent her to camp at the age of eleven. Her mother had told her she wanted to keep her home during summer vacations, but it would be risky to do so. It was better for her to train at camp, like her brother.

To Marisol’s misfortune, it was true. Better to meet a monster well prepared than to get killed by it for not knowing how to fight. For Marisol’s bright smile and easygoing personality, it hadn’t been a challenge to get her a place in camp. Between Kristin Fjord, from cabin seven; and Evan Ricks, from her own cabin; she hit it off pretty well. Marisol, who had her dad’s bronze skin, dark hair, elfish face and wicked grin, was proud of the five beads hanging from her neck. She had also inherited from Leo her troublemaker face and her army vest jacket. She had her mother’s eyes, though, and her complexion. Maybe a little of her graceful moves. She was short, yeah, but fit. With Chiron’s training it was difficult not to develop some muscles, or to be fat.

Marisol was the queen swordsman. She also held the title of most flags captured in capture-the-flag-Fridays. Hermes’s cabin was a most-wanted for capture the flag. Marisol got rid of a lot of boring duties due to being one of the reasons the cabin always got great deals. Even so, she still felt as if her brother eclipsed her all the time. Sebastián was better than her at anything she could think of, and he was more popular, too. Half the camp wanted to date Sebastián Valdez, but he was already taken. His girlfriend was Gwen (which would most likely get him killed by uncle Frank one of these days). Gwen was at Camp Jupiter, and had him as a pathetic sight, sighing all day long.

There were, nevertheless, a couple things that made her feel better. For example, even though her brother was better at being popular, gardening (though he never used that skill at camp) and archery, she was a way better blacksmith than he was. That would win her complicit grins from her father from time to time, even when it didn’t win her any friends in the Hephaestus cabin. She just couldn’t get them entirely. And it was a bit weird to hang out with your uncles and aunts.

Marisol hadn’t had her brother’s luck in love, either. To Sebastián, it had been just a Christmas party and a lot of staring. Bam! He had a girlfriend and what turned into a long distance relationship every summer. She had just a couple of rough experiences that might be the reason her brother had grown so overprotective of her. Bad boys, who matched Marisol’s explosive personality, creating explosive relationships.

Marisol was now sixteen years old and was determined not to let bad boys fool her that summer. She would concentrate on training and get a little bit better in archery, in which she sucked epically. Problem was Marisol Valdez was loud and cheerful. She warmed up to people faster than she took notice of, developing potentially dangerous crushes before she even knew she might find someone interesting.

That’s why, when she woke up that morning, she didn’t pay attention to one of her brother’s many friends (not even a close one). It was Martin, from cabin four, who was talking to him in one corner of the cabin. She’d never spoken to him, and had never given him a second look, to be honest. She barely remembered him at all, just recognised him by his copper brown hair, more chocolaty than ginger. She walked away with a quick pace, focused on getting to use the shower before the lot.

Marisol shared breakfast with Evan, son of Hermes. They discussed the best way to play a prank on Henry Stoll, Marisol’s last romantic failure. She wasn’t one for revenge, but Evan could be quite convincing when he wanted. Also, Henry hadn’t been nice about their break up. He’d enjoyed making it as awkward as possible around the cabin and so. He had called her ‘babe’ during capture the flag. That had to be illegal somewhere.

“We could make him believe I’m drowning in the canoe lake and you come and save me. Being near death should soften him on me a bit.” Marisol suggested.

“Or,” Evan said, moving his hand in a dramatic gesture. “We could drown him and stare at the lake as his oxygen bubbles stop coming out to the surface.” He said, not even caring to lower his voice, in an obvious attempt for Henry to listen to him. Evan had no love for the guy since he’d hurt Marisol. Nobody hurt Marisol and got away so easy. Until then, she would have to stand Henry being a jerk. Even when Sebastián had made it clear he didn’t want to hear more of Henry and his funny business with Marisol. To her bad luck, there were only a few ones who still took Sebastián as a serious thing in Hermes’s cabin. The rest of the camp might have respected and looked up to Sebastián Valdez. Not the ones who slept in the most crowded floor of the Hermes cabin.

Marisol finished breakfast and went to do the first activity she had that morning. Sword skills lessons, in company of her esteemed friend, Evan. Marisol was the best swordsman in all Camp Half-Blood except, maybe, for Zoë Jackson. Anyway, this generation of demigods had its best swordsmen on the female side.

Marisol was beating the Hades out of Evan. That’s when a guy with copper brown hair and gentle amber eyes, a guy who was gorgeous in extreme, walked into the battling arena. When Marisol thought gorgeous, she didn’t mean hot or even attractive, but pretty. Cute. Evan, who was sweating a bit from their fight, was hot. The pretty boy walking to them looked like the kind of guy who’s been friendzoned by every single girl he has ever spoken to. There was a huge chance it was due to the fact he was just too nice. There was a possibility she was mistaken. But the way his eyes looked around gave her the feeling he wasn’t checking out any girls. Even when many of the ones in the battling arena had quite fit and nice bodies. His eyes stopped on her, and she felt as if someone had put an ice cube inside the back of her shirt. She held his gaze, though, because she never lost staring competitions. The guy was super tall. Even when almost all guys made Marisol look like a gnome, she could tell his height exceeded her normal standard of tall. For instance, he towered Evan. He approached them.

“I’m sorry” he said, since he had interrupted their fight. “Do you know where can I get a sword for the class? I signed up yesterday, because my friends convinced me not having any weapon skills is pretty lame.” Marisol sheathed her sword in the strap on her back and took her helmet off (which was a size or two too big for her). She checked him out, who stood uncomfortable under her gaze, until she grinned.

“Sure, pretty boy.” She turned to Evan. “Go find yourself a new partner for today, Evan. I’ll take the noob.” Evan smirked.

“Alright, boss.” He walked off.

“Hey!” The cute guy protested.

“Don’t worry; we call so all the newbie’s.” She lifted her hand. “I’m Marisol Valdez.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re Sebastián’s little sister, aren’t you?” Marisol frowned.

“Well, aren’t you charming? I prefer being referred to as Marisol, though. I remember you now. You were in my cabin this morning, right?” She guessed.

“Right. Mary... soul?” He tried the pronunciation, failing completely even when he’d been careful to mimic the way she just said it.

“ _Mahriesohl_... with a softer ‘r’.” She instructed him. “I ain’t the soul of Virgin Mary, you know.” Then she shrugged and began making her way towards the armoury. “Come on, pretty boy. Let’s get you a sword.” He caught up with her in a blink.

“I’m sorry” he apologised. “For mispronouncing your name, I mean.” His apology made Marisol think he was, in fact, as cute as she’d guessed. The kind of cute she’d never paid any attention to before, romantically speaking. “I’d appreciate it if you could stop calling me that.” He requested afterwards, with a slightly annoyed expression. _Oh, so he doesn’t like flirts_ , Marisol noted.

“Well you haven’t told me your name yet, _pretty boy_.” She insisted, since she’d figured it bothered him.

“I thought you said you knew who I was.” He glared at her.

“Bad with names.” She shrugged, as if she didn’t care how annoying he thought her.

“Martin Windflowers, from cabin four.” They were coming into the armoury as he said so, Marisol’s eyes widened, and she cracked up.

“You’re kidding, right? A child of Demeter whose surname’s Windflowers?” Her laugh was loud. It was common for Martin to get annoyed whenever people made fun of the odd coincidence between his mother and his surname. Marisol surprised him, though, because she seemed way more amused by it than people usually were. His ears still turned bright red, since he was a bit embarrassed. She walked around the armoury instead, looking at the swords around her.

“Well, uhm, yeah. Guilty as charged.” She wasn’t paying attention to him anymore, as her eyes landed on all the celestial bronze surrounding her. She picked up a blade, tracing its sharp edge with her index finger, leaving an innocuous cut on her skin. She shook her head and turned to another option. He stepped forward. “You okay?” He asked.

“What?” She didn’t lift her eyes to look at him, studying another blade.

“Your finger, you cut yourself.” Marisol looked up at him for a while, until she finally snapped out of the trance she was in. She stared down to her bleeding finger.

“Oh. Well, nevermind, it’s nothing, Martín.” She waved the deal away and went back to the swords.

“My name is Martin. Not ‘Martín’.” He said.

“Whatever, _Martín_.” He sighed, noticing it was hopeless; at least now weapons had her in deep concentration. She finally picked up a sword and handed it to him. “Here, try this one.” He took it, in a strange way, and as his hand grabbed the hilt, she noticed the odd thing about it. “Oh, left-handed. Interesting.” Marisol pointed out.

“Got a problem with that?” He said, a bit ruder than he had intended to, but his usually sweet nature made it easy for people to pick up on him, and he was pretty tired of it. He hadn’t meant to take it out on Marisol.

“No. I just thought it’s curious. It’s said left handed people has more developed brains.” Martin mumbled something like ‘Oh, sorry’ but Marisol was caught up in her work again. Her dark eyes, which had first startled him, seemed way gentler now the passion for the work she was doing filled them. She shook her head again, at the sword on his hand. It made him think that maybe there was more to her than being Sebastián’s flirtatious little sister. The thought lasted right up until she began tracing the muscles on his arm with her thin, yet calloused fingers. She spent a lot of time in the forges, after all. The way her hands did not feel like usual girly hands, sent a chill and a red alert through all his system. He backed away.

“Just what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Martin asked, alarmed.

“I’m trying to figure out which kind of sword would have a perfect balance on your grip.” She said, oblivious to the way she’d been touching him. “I got it.” She picked up the sword and examined it with the looks of an expert. Her hands lit up and Martin gasped at the view of Marisol and her hands on fire. She bended the celestial bronze to her will, shifting its shape making slight changes to it. She stared at what she’d created and frowned. “I’ll be right back.” She left Martin there, checking the rest of the weapons in the armoury. He could not quite understand the difference from one another, so his eyes skittered to something he understood better— the outside. His eyes first caressed the bright green grass, then the deep blue sky. At that time of the day, the sky was the exact same colour of the eyes of the prettiest girl at camp when she smiled. Giselle Park’s, Martin’s biggest crush. Being a child of Demeter, few demigods in camp had taken him seriously. He spent most of his time talking to dryads and picking up strawberries. He attended camp since he was eight, and ten beads hung around his neck. He was almost a solitary guy, taking care of his cabin’s roof garden and helping Mr. D’s children at the strawberry field. Even so, he’d managed to gain a slight friendship with some guys from the other cabins. Those ones who wanted some flowers to impress their dates. Except for the dryads, Martin Windflowers had almost no popularity amongst girls. In spite of that, he had his eyes set on no less than one of Aphrodite’s daughters. He was deep lost in thought, picturing her mischievous blue eyes, staring at the piece of the camp’s clear skies. He saw from inside the armoury when Marisol walked in. The sword she was carrying with her was magnificent.

“Here you have, pretty— I mean, Martín.” He grabbed the hilt and noticed how different it felt from the first time he held it. Then the image of Marisol’s fiery hands came back to his mind.

“Your hands... they were—” he was speechless, and Marisol chuckled.

“Yeah, it is this blessing Hephaestus gave my dad once... it turned out to run on the family, although it has faded a bit. It’s only useful while forging; I can burn neither monsters nor people. I am harmless to almost everything that’s not an object.” She shrugged.

“I guess I should thank you.” He smiled at the handy work she had pulled out.

“Oh, don’t mention it.” Her face went from sincere humbleness to a more tricky expression. “Although I wouldn’t mind a thank-you kiss.” Martin face was full of disbelief.

“A kiss?”

“Yeah, you know, the moment two people feel this strange magnetic dread. Then try to break free of it by leaning onto each other, eyes closed, and their lips brush each other’s, setting a pace. Sweet, soft, warm. Comfortable, pleasant. When one tilts its head a bit to give the other one better access and—”

“I know what a kiss is, Valdez.” He cut her off. “But I’m not kissing you.” She pouted, offended.

“Then prepare yourself for a humiliating defeat, Windflowers.” It took her half a second to unsheathe her blade and position herself. “You strike first.” Martin was taught by his father to be a gentleman and that, of course, meant not to sword fight girls. Then again, he sensed it would offend Marisol deeply if he didn’t fight her for being a girl. The whole purpose of not fighting her would be not to be disrespectful. But in this specific case, the disrespectful thing to do was backing off, so he tightened the grip on his sword and charged. She avoided him with almost no effort and took his sword with hers making him loosen the grip on the hilt. His sword shattered on the floor, and he felt the cold bronze of her sword on his neck.

“You would be dead by now.” She pointed out. “But I like you, so I’ll let you go in exchange for something.” He was already beginning to think he might suck at all these: swordsmanship, trying to get Marisol off him...

“What would that be?” He arched up an eyebrow, dreadful of the answer.

“My prize” she answered, jumping ever so slightly to save the distance between them and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Practise is over for today.” Marisol walked out the armoury with a pace full of confidence, leaving Martin struggling with himself. He was both awestruck and mad at her.

“That can be considered as harassment, Valdez!” He yelled at the empty space she left behind.

 

Kristin Fjord was a daughter of Apollo with an uncommon confidence problem. She always wore jeans, even when at camp the temperature (and the training) forced you to wear shorts. She was like that, shy and fearful, until she met Marisol. Kristin was Marisol’s favourite person at camp —besides Evan. She was fifteen and had helped her out in a lot of stuff. Marisol would never forget the moment they first met. It had been a mere coincidence, but they knew right away they were meant to be friends. Marisol was eleven and was dropped off at the base of Half-Blood Hill by her parents. Sebastián has disappeared right away, abducted by his friends. Marisol entered the Hermes cabin guided by Chiron. There was little space, but she found a clear spot on the floor, where she set her sleeping bag and her backpack with the few things she’d brought to camp: a bow, given to her by her parents, and a copy of Hamlet. A boy walked into the cabin just as she sat on her sleeping bag to contemplate how the rest of her summer was supposed to turn out. He had warm brown eyes and his father’s curly black hair.

“Hey, that’s my spot.” The boy said. Marisol couldn’t help to notice how attractive he was, as much as an eleven year old can find another eleven year old attractive.

“As you can see, it’s taken by me now.” They stared at each other daringly, until Marisol sighed. With an older brother, she’d learnt to share. “Here.” She said, moving her sleeping bag a bit further from the wall, creating a new spot. “Now you’ve got a place.” He grinned and handed out his hand.

“The name’s Evan. Evan Ricks. Son of Hermes.” Marisol was quite surprised by this introduction, since most new demigods in camp didn’t know who their godly parent was. This she knew by what her brother had told her about camp.

“Have you been claimed?” She asked with excitement, her eyes sparkling with the marvel of a kid who sees its bedtime stories come to live. Evan winced.

“Not yet, I arrived a couple minutes ago.” As he saw disappointment climbing to Marisol’s expression, he tried to fix it. “But my mother told me so.” Chest raised and everything, he made quite an impression. Maybe that’s why Marisol couldn’t help the wide-eyed attitude he provoked in her.

“I’m Marisol.” Wide smile, wide eyes.

“That’s quite difficult to say, what about I call you Sol instead?” Marisol shrugged, and just like that, he was allowed to use the new nickname he’d given her. “So who’s your godly parent, Sol? Hermes as well? Or if you don’t know, who do you think it might be?” She sighed and bit her lip, knowing the answer she was going to be was going to take any interest away from her.

“I’m second generation. My grandfather is Hephaestus, my mother’s Calypso. That’s why I kept some of godly blood, but it’s almost nothing.”

“Wow, that’s kind of cool. Most demigods don’t live enough to have kids. And you’re telling me you’re Calypso’s daughter? Cool. Maybe you could hang out with the girls from the Demeter cabin? Since, you know, they love gardens and stuff.”

“I suck at gardening.” She confessed, glad he hadn’t lost interest in her.

“Then what do you like?” That’s where she could be cooler. That was her answer.

“I like swords. My father won’t have me using a sword, but I love them.” A sparkle and complicit grins. Marisol had won over Evan. She had a slightly more romantic interesting him than he had on her, but that was going to be solved soon, without damaging their friendship.

That’s when Marisol decided to take a walk around camp. Evan didn’t lose the opportunity to check it as well, so they went together. That’s when they saw her. She was sitting outside the Apollo cabin with a worried expression. Although it was hot as hell, she was wearing jeans. She had Apollo’s sunbathed blonde hair and her mother’s dark eyes. Her face was freckled and her hair was braided over her left shoulder.

“Is everything okay?” Marisol asked, stepping towards her. Evan stood a bit behind, like wondering why Marisol would talk to a girl she didn’t know. The girl nodded, and Marisol sighed. “Are you new here? I’m new as well. My name’s Marisol.” That’s when the girl finally lifted her dark, trapping eyes. They were both bewitched by the intensity of her gaze.

“I’m not new. My name’s Kristin. Kristin Fjord. I’m... trying to decide how to enter my cabin without being noticed.” Evan got interested on that specific intention.

“Why?” He asked. Kristin was suddenly aware of his presence, and she looked away from his clumsy figure. A boy who had every single bone aching to reach an acceptable height.

“Because I don’t like people looking at me.” She admitted.

“But I’m looking at you, doesn’t it bother you?” Marisol was rightfully surprised by Kristin’s shyness.

“I... I don’t feel comfortable among my brethren. They’re all so handsome and gorgeous and then there’s me. And I’m maybe okay, but compared to them... compared to them...” Evan wanted to say something, but it was just not in him the ability to tell girls whether they were pretty. Yet. Instead, Marisol tool a peek inside the cabin through the window, then spoke.

“You are the most beautiful girl I’ve met, Kristin. And I’m not saying this to make you feel better. I’m telling you this because I believe it to be true. I think you don’t lack anything they’ve got. You’re just as attractive. You’ve just... got to believe it yourself.”

“Do you really think so?” Kristin eyes were not asking Marisol, they were demanding an answer from Evan. _A neutral party_ , Marisol thought. Of course, eleven year old boys don’t tell girls they’re pretty. Evan did an exception for sad-eyed Kristin, though.

“Sure.” He didn’t look her in the eye, but the single syllable was enough to lift Kristin spirits up. That was when Kristin decided she wouldn’t leave Marisol alone. That was when Evan decided he’d found the girls to hang out with. To be cocky with, and to laugh with.

 

Kristin was the reason Marisol still attended archery class, even when she hated it. Marisol needed to talk to Kristin for a change. So much sharing with boys didn’t make her feel everything was as okay as when she had girl-talks with the golden girl. Being a girl sometimes means to talk about guys, just as guys talk about which girls they find hot and which they don’t. So, strangely, she was actually looking forward archery. She spotted Kristin’s golden head just as she stepped into the archery field. Her bow and quiver were a gift from her mother, for her first year at camp. Calypso thought her daughter would be as good with a bow as her brother had turned out to be, but Marisol had let her down.

Chiron urged Marisol to take her place. She liked the wise centaur, although she hated his class. He was the one who’d told her it didn’t matter if she was no use with a bow or an arrow, that she could explore other weapons. That advice had taken her to try sword fighting. Her dad was out of his mind when she’d arrived back from camp with a sword and her mother had laughed loudly for a good while. Leo had grumbled ‘You’re just like your mother’. Even when Marisol couldn’t picture her mom with a sword, she could picture her going against her dad’s wishes just to make him mad. Her dad always said she was much like Calypso, but she just couldn’t see the resemblance but in their dark almond eyes. That was the only thing you could see from her mother in her. Sebastián, on the other hand, was like her mother’s copycat. He had her mother’s beautiful cinnamon hair. Even Kristin’s hair looked more similar to Calypso’s than Marisol’s. She ran towards Kristin and kissed her on her cheek. Kristin gifted her a wide smile.

“Marie” she said (she was the only one allowed to call Marisol that), with her soft and cutest voice. “You look happy today.”

“Of course I do. I beat the Hades out of Evan on sword skills class. Magnificent victory to add to my story of sword fights with Evan.” Kristin sighed at the mention of their friend. “Is there anything wrong, Kris?” She shook her head.

“It’s just that Evan’s been acting a bit weird lately. He won’t meet me as much as he used to. He even dropped Art & Crafts with me.”

“You know Evan’s like that. He does stupid things without considering how much it could worry us. But don’t worry. It’ll be okay.” Kristin smiled dryly.

“Sure. How’s your day been anyways? Anything else besides beating Evan’s sorry ass?” Marisol thought of it.

“There’s this new guy in my sword class, it took me five seconds to win him. He had a very lame technique, though he was kind of cute.” Marisol told Kristin.

“Who?” Kristin didn’t personally know everyone at camp, but she did notice everyone, which Marisol was certainly incapable of doing.

“Martin Wind—”

“Windflowers. From cabin four, child of Demeter. Eighteen years old, talked to him during strawberry—”

“He is eighteen?!” Marisol exclaimed in disbelief.

“Valdez, pay attention to your target! Aim ain’t just luck if you actually look at what are you supposed to shoot.” Chiron told her off.

“Yes, Chiron.” Marisol said with a tired tone. “So, he’s eighteen?” She asked in a lower voice. Kristin nodded. “Holy Hephaestus! I had thought he was younger.”

“You like him.” Kristin pointed out. Marisol’s mouth fell open.

“Valdez!” A familiar voice called out for her this time. Zoë Jackson, from her own cabin. That girl was way better at archery than she was. There was a slight rivalry between them, and Marisol hated to be reminded of how much she sucked at archery, so Zoë did it to push her to be better. “Why do I see so much chatting coming from you and no action?”

“Ugh, Zoë, don’t be a pain. You know I suck at this.”

“Yeah, because that’s what you are!” She showed her tongue to Marisol, in a childish manner, to which Marisol rolled her eyes and turned to Kristin.

“So, going back to where we left it, no way, Kris.” She let go of an arrow, and missed by a wide margin. She cursed under her breath. Zoë’s laugh was loud. “I said I’m not going to pay attention to guys this summer! After Henry, I don’t need any more bad boys.”

“If there’s one thing you can tell about Martin just by his looks, is that he’s no bad boy.”

“I know.” Marisol acknowledged, a bit down.

“Come on, Marie, Martin is a nice guy, I’m sure he’ll know to appreciate you and will take good care of you. I’m not one to usually encourage you to chase after boys, but I believe a nice guy like Martin would do you good.” Kristin’s expression was affable and sweet.

“You think so?” Marisol sighed. “He’s eighteen. I doubt he’ll ever notice me.”

“I don’t think it possible for people not to notice you” Kristin tried to cheer her up.

“We’ll have to see” Marisol stated and threw another arrow, and for the first time ever, it actually hit the target.

“Finally! Good job, Valdez!” They heard Zoë shout.

“Shut up, Jackson, I’ll beat you in sword fighting any time.” In spite of the hostile tone of her words, she smiled to the girl of straight hair held in a ponytail and wise silver grey eyes. Then, she looked at Kristin’s target. It was full of arrows, all of them bull’s eyes. When she stopped to meditate about it, she understood the humiliation Kristin put her through might be a very good reason to why she hated archery.

 

Martin was polishing his new sword right by his cabin during his free time before dinner. He would normally look after his garden, think how his petunias were the exact same colour as Giselle’s blue eyes and let his mind drift in daydream. Today, for a change, he was doing the unexpected for a guy like Martin Windflowers: polishing a weapon of his own. He thought of the dark eyes and the fiery hands which had forged it for him and was surprised to find himself thinking about her. After all, she’d only mocked him. But she’d been pretty amazing while she was at it. She’d given him the sword he was holding right then, when he was gifted with the visit of the one he’d never had the chance to chat with alone: Giselle Park herself.

“Hello.” She said with a voice that seemed to be made by the soft summer breeze; instead of the regular, common human voice. Martin looked up, and went speechless.

“Giselle! Wow, I wasn’t expecting you.” He said, standing up abruptly, letting his blade shatter on the floor.

“Sorry, are you busy? Because I can go if you don’t have time.” She put a loose hair lock behind her ear with expertise.

“No, stay!” He exclaimed while picking up his sword and when he noticed the excess of enthusiasm on his voice, he cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m not busy, we can talk if that’s what you came for.” Giselle chuckled, and her soft giggles were charming and breathtaking. Martin fell in some sort of trance.

“Yeah, that’s what I came for. Is that sword yours?” Giselle pointed at the weapon, the celestial bronze gleaming under late afternoon’s mild sun.

“Yes, some friends convinced me to try a weapon other than trapping creepers. I thought I could give swordsmanship a shot.” He smiled humbly.

“I like guys who can protect their girls.” She admitted, eyeing him, who blushed trying to decide whether she was making a compliment or there was something else. Giselle admired the sword. She wasn’t a blacksmith, but she did know to recognise art and beauty. “It’s a very beautiful work—”

“Indeed. It took me a while, but I would classify it as one of my best pieces so far.” Marisol simply dropped herself into the conversation, like she’d been always meant to be there. Martin had no idea where had she come from, and was both surprised and unpleased with her appearance. Marisol had come with the intention to see if he knew how to take proper care of his sword, regarding her last creation with the protectiveness of a careful mother. To find Martin chatting with Giselle had been purely coincidental. “Hello, pretty boy. I mean, Martín. What’s up?”

“What are you doing here, Valdez?” He said, tiresome in his voice. Giselle appeared to be amused by the way Martin seemed to ignore Marisol. A quick note in the relationship between Giselle Park and Marisol Valdez: nothing. Marisol was reckless and careless, wore whatever she felt comfortable in and had a really hot, yet taken, big brother. That made her despicable to all of the girls in the Aphrodite cabin. To Giselle, it was nearly comical to see someone like Marisol had anything to do with Martin. Even when she wasn’t a cruel girl, she didn’t see how the two of them could have anything in common. Martin was a gentleman who took care of his garden, and Marisol was a free (but a bit barbarian) spirit who went from bad boy to bad boy. To Giselle, Marisol’s love story wasn’t a mystery.

“Nothing” Marisol said, thinking of an excuse, feeling Giselle’s amused curiosity over her. “I was just walking by, thought you might have no hobbies nor activities to do in your spare time and it occurred to me I could teach you some great fun stuff to do and,” she checked up Giselle and put a hand over her mouth, as if for to share a secret. “By the looks of it, you need it.” Martin was about to send Marisol away, when Giselle interrupted him, thinking she could end the matter quickly.

“You know her?” She asked. Martin scratched the back of his head.

“Yeah, she’s my uh, tutor in sword skills class. Why?” He gave Giselle an apologetic look, which said ‘I didn’t invite her over’.

“Tutor?” She repeated, sceptical.

“I’m awesome with a sword; give me some credit, Park.” Marisol defended herself. It was a brief moment, but as Marisol bragged, Giselle could tell Martin’s eyes were on Marisol, ignoring her completely.

“I just remembered I have to go do something. You two have fun.” She could not stand the humiliation to have been ignored, even if just a second, for a girl like Marisol. Before Martin could stop her, Giselle was gone. He turned to tell Marisol off, when she smiled at him unworried, and unsheathed her sword.

“Wanna practise some more?” Martin sighed, defeated. There was no possible way for him to get really angry at Marisol, even when she had just scared away his crush the first time she had ever talked to him alone. He wanted to be mad at her, but the way she couldn’t care less about Giselle, the way she asked him to be careless too made him forget the girl he liked had just walked away.

“Yeah, sure, why not.” He shrugged and picked up his sword.

“But first, a kiss for the teacher!”

“Valdez!” He complained, his face red, uncomfortable with Marisol’s flirtatious ways.

“Aw, come on, a kiss on the cheek?”

“No. Drop it.” She smiled.

“I can drop my mouth onto yours, sure.”

“Marisol!” He blushed brighter; she gave him a victorious grin.

“Okay, okay, let’s just clash swords and all of that.” Martin sighed with relief.

 

Marisol was onto Giselle. She had thought girls like Giselle didn’t pay any attention to boys like Martin, but after what she’d seen she wasn’t so sure anymore. She didn’t want to lose him to her before she could get a fair shot to see if she really liked him. To see if she could make him like her back. She wanted to check if Martin was really a guy who wouldn’t hurt her. That’s why she’d woken up early to catch him fixing the flowers in the roof of his cabin for cabin inspection.

“Hi there, Martín.” She greeted from the ground. Martin was shocked to hear her voice and almost fell off the roof.

“What the Hades...!” He looked down, to find Marisol’s mocking smile. “Marisol.” He said, with very little enthusiasm.

“Hey, if you talk like that I might believe you’re not thrilled to see me.” He understood there was no getting rid of her.

“Don’t you have friends of your own?” He asked, not on a rude manner, but a curious one.

“I’m glad you worry about me not having any friends, but I do. I just decided I’d like to make you one of them.”

“Why would you like to be my friend?” He jumped off the roof, landing steadily and gracefully.

“Because you make me look great every time I destroy you with my sword.” Martin finally let go of a sincere smile. _Yet you picked me up from the ground during capture the flag_ , he though. He was becoming fond of Marisol. It was impossible not to like her, with her free spirit and her witty and quick jokes, but he had a crush on another girl. A huge crush and it was completely impossible for him to get Giselle’s attention with Marisol batting her eyelashes all around him.

“Let’s go.” He told Marisol.

“Where to?” He grinned.

“The dining pavilion, of course. Aren’t you having breakfast?” Marisol nodded and followed, taking this walking to breakfast as a small victory.

“Did it hurt?” Marisol couldn’t resist asking him.

“What?” Poor Martin, too distracted and naive to prevent what was coming.

“When you fell from Olympus, of course.” Martin gave her an annoyed look.

“You make me regret being nice to you. Are you ever going to stop mocking me?” She giggled.

“But Martín, you’re so dazzling I can’t contain myself.”

“I hardly think so. You’re the kind of girl who would break my heart in half a blink.” Marisol pretended to be offended.

“Oh, pretty boy, I would break you anything but your heart”. Martin couldn’t help to mumble nonsense sounds until his neurones went back to normality and he could complain, telling her off by yelling her surname. He had to learn to keep it cool around her, even with her constant flirting and everything.

“You should be more careful. People will think of us as a couple.”

“I’m not in the business to care for what people think. But I don’t mind if the whole camp thinks we’re dating. Do you?” _Of course I do, I’m after another girl_ , he thought, but could not bring himself to say it.

“I’ll see you later, Marisol.” He said, and she didn’t understand why he’d said so, until she noticed they had arrived to the dining pavilion. He was a son of Demeter and as such, he was meant to sit with his brethren, far away from her. _Is it safe to date you, Martín?_ Her thoughts asked him as she sat besides Evan, who was looking at her with an entertained expression.

“You are such a liar, Sol. You said you weren’t going to date anyone this summer.”

“And I’m not going to.” Evan laughed.

“Oh, Martín, did it hurt when you fell from Olympus?” He said, holding his hands close to his face, faking a dreaming expression, in his best attempt to copy her.

“Shut up, Ricks. Or I’ll find myself in the need to ask you about why you are avoiding Kris.” Evan’s expression turned grim.

“It’s nothing.”

“Sure, nothing. Good thing I know you, Evan.”

“Shut up, Valdez.” He said, looking away, to avoid making eye contact and confirming her what she already knew.

 

When Martin felt confident enough about his sword skills, he participated for his third time in capture the flag. It might be important to mention that the first time he played, Martin was eight, and was one of those losers who got knocked out in a sec and woke up to realise they had broken something. So yeah, he hadn’t played since then, not that his cabin was very participative in the game. Not until a couple weeks ago, when they had convinced him to and a tiny girl sprained his ankle. He got into Athena’s team, which this time meant he was in Marisol’s team as well. Giselle wasn’t playing, though she was watching. He had known she was going to be an spectator all week, and had wanted to make a good impression, so he’d been practising specially hard that week. Giselle was a nice Aphrodite daughter who was currently single, by what looked to Martin as a miracle. Nothing less than a miracle could make Giselle be single. It was his shot to win her heart, and he was not going to throw it away. The only thing he had to do was to capture the damn flag, easy peasy. The children of Athena told him he would be in the front line, which meant he was supposed to go for the flag, good news. Bad news was among the front liners, there was also...

“Oh my, if it isn’t my pretty boy!” Marisol exclaimed jumping on him. He stumbled but didn’t fall. He kept his balance as he tried to get Marisol off of him, who was now hanging from his neck.

“Seriously, Valdez.” He grumbled as he put her on the floor.

“I’m so excited you are going to play as well. This is an amazing game. You look so cute in full Greek armour. Also, the fact you are going to chase makes you even hotter.” She winked at him. He glanced nervously at Giselle, who was still watching the game. She’d seemed very uncomfortable about Marisol the first time they met. Now, her expression was impassive, and Martin didn’t know whether it was a good or a bad sign.

“Valdez, drop it. Anyways, how are you in the front line?” He was asking out of being mad for feeling he had very bad luck. If Marisol was in the front line, he had zero possibilities of catching the flag. Marisol cracked up, and so did the people around him.

“Easy you got confused by her childish looks, Windflowers, but Soul here is the best front liner we’ve got.” Said a guy with curly, sandy hair and deep sea green eyes, probably one of Percy Jackson’s sons. “Zoë always complains how they can’t get in different teams to prove who’s the best, since they’re in the same cabin.” The fun that produced him showed he was, indeed, brother to Zoë.

“Soul?” Martin asked. He suddenly noticed Sebastián was there. Sebastián was a standard-tall guy, with blondish brown hair, fair skin, dark eyes, and Marisol’s same wicked smile. Martin winced, since he was also freely gifting him a murderous glare. He had known better than to let Marisol flirt with him, but if Sebastián just knew there was no stopping her, he would glare at his sister instead of him.

“Well, nobody can say Sol, except for her friend, Evan. And she refuses to be nicknamed Marie.” Sebastián answered him. _Dude_ , a couple days ago they were friends. Not the closest friends to ever exist, but friends.

“Uh, okay.” Said Martin for all answer. Zoë’s divided them into flanks. Martin got to be a lateral, and so did Marisol, so he guessed it wasn’t a bad position. Chiron began the game. One second to another, everybody was gone. Only Marisol was still standing there.

“What are you waiting for?” She asked. “Run!” And so, she disappeared. _Damn, she is fast_ , Martin thought as he tried to keep up with her. Somehow, his first instinct was to follow her, mainly fearing she could get harmed. Of course, it never occurred to him that maybe Marisol was way too good for this game, moving around with great speed and without making a sound, and would never get hurt. Someone appeared in her path and she knocked the other girl out with one slice of her sword and a hit from her hilt. Martin stared in awe, remembering the first time he’d fought her. She’d disarmed him so easily it had been almost embarrassing. He suddenly lost her from sight, but he kept running, no longer looking for the flag, but for Marisol. When he found her, she was grinning mockingly.

“Where were you?” He asked.

“Oh my gods, you were worried for me!” She got closer and jumped to kiss his cheek over his helmet, before he could stop her. It was a bit uncomfortable for her having to jump to do so, but Martin was tall, and he wasn’t willing to lean to simplify her job.

“Now, I regret it.” He admitted.

“Aw, I was just getting the flag, you know.” She jumped and kissed him again. He had to hold her down, with his hands on her shoulders, in order to keep her from doing it again.

“Quit doing that!” She just smiled wider.

“Anyway you want it, Martín.”

“So where’s the flag?” He asked.

“Did you notice how we are alone right now?” Her look was very suggestive.

“Valdez.” He cut her off, alarmed.

“Oh, don’t worry, the forest is quite big, no one will hear us.” She insisted.

“Marisol!” He was blushing so much she couldn’t help to giggle.

“Okay, here’s the flag.” She held it up. “The creek’s a few metres from here. We’ve won. What about a victory kiss?”

“How do I have to tell you to drop the act and stop flirting with me?” Marisol was going to answer, but she saw something behind him, and her eyes widened.

“Duck!” She yelled, and they both went down. Marisol handed him the flag. “Run!” She whispered in his ear, which sent a chill down his spine. Not necessarily a bad chill. He didn’t question her, he just ran with all his might towards the creek, and when he dared to look back he saw Marisol fighting one of Ares’ daughters, one of those very scary, super strong girls. She did an awesome job to keep her at bay, and he felt guilty somehow. _He_ should be the one looking after her, not the other way around. He crossed the creek and his team cheered. They had won. Everybody patted him in the back and told him what an awesome job he’d done. He wanted to tell them it was Marisol’s doing, actually, but they wouldn’t let him. When Giselle walked up to him with starry eyes and a charming smile, he felt guilty. It had been Marisol the one who’d won this thing. Not him.

After the game, Marisol not only had to deal with jealousy ( _Why do I care, anyways?_ ) but also with a bigger problem, called Sebastián. He walked up to her right after the game, took off his helm and gave her the same look he’d given her when she’d gotten her first high school boyfriend, back home, during her freshmen year. She’d just kissed him by the lockers and Sebastián had gone crazy about it, even involving her parents; her dad also out of his mind about it. She could still remember her mother’s words.

“Try to keep it down around the guys. Your father and brother do not know how to deal with this kind of situations.” Calypso’d winked at her. Now, she realised maybe she’d pushed it a little in front of Sebastián, earlier during the game.

“Marisol!” Sebastián said, angrily. “You have to stop throwing yourself at guys.” He told her off.

“Don’t be annoying, Seba. I only throw myself at Martin, and we’re just friends.” She waved her hand in order to take relevance from the matter.

“Yeah, _friends_ , that’s what you call it nowadays. An that’s not my point!” Seba glared at her again.

“ _Shh_... do you hear that?” Her brother was startled. He looked around.

“Hear what?” His eyes narrowed as he looked down at her.

“The distant sound of ‘I don’t care!’ mixed with the ‘I’ve seen you slide your tongue down Gwen’s throat in the most disgusting ways so shut up’ melody.” She said, with her best ‘fuck you’ glare for implying she was some sort of slut just for flirting with a guy. Gods, her brother could be so annoying. She walked away, leaving her brother open mouthed, worried in his own annoying way, and offended.

Martin had had his share of Sebastián’s jealousy as well. It’d taken him a while to get him to understand he wasn’t interested in Marisol. At least, not as a girlfriend.

A few days after that, Martin was all alone, doing what his brethren wouldn’t do. Demeter had a preference for daughters, so there were really few guys in his cabin. This year, just his luck, it was only him. He was gardening on the roof of his cabin when Marisol appeared. As she walked towards Martin, she thought how all those girls who’d friendzoned him had most likely never seen him shirtless. Because, _gods_ , that wide back, that slightly tanned skin and those strong muscles moving restlessly with the delicate and meticulous works of gardening could’ve made her drool on the spot. Of course, she contained herself. She had already forgotten how Giselle had been so close to him after capture the flag. Marisol would forgive Martin anything, without even noticing. She looked around and saw his shirt neatly folded on the ground. She picked it up. _A tiny souvenir_ , she told herself.

“Hey there, Martín. Trying to impress me?” She smiled cockily. He frowned.

“I’m trying to get this flowers to grow beautiful and strong, if that impresses you, well yeah.” He enjoyed her cheerful company, but it made him very weary the fact that she flirted with him so much. He knew she was just teasing him, because no girl like Marisol would ever truly like him. She was exactly the kind of girl who breaks the hearts of heartbreakers. “Also, my name is Martin, not Martín, thank you very much.”

“Whatever, _Martín_.” She insisted. Her eyes observed curious from the ground. “That’s a great ass the one you’ve got there, you know?” She spilled like she’d said ‘What a nice day, huh?’ Martin blushed. There was no denying Marisol was a beautiful girl, but it wasn’t fair she took advantage of it to tease him so much.

“Valdez!”

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t tease you. But I enjoy it. Like I enjoy watching your sweaty back working up there, flexing your muscles while you’re gardening—”

“Valdez, please. I do not enjoy it.” He pleaded.

“Why, of course you do. You just don’t think I’m serious and that makes you feel insecure.” She snorted.

“Well, _are_ you serious?” He asked. She stared intensely into his eyes, and he could almost see the scars hiding in her gaze. The side to Marisol he didn’t know, and he’d never seen. Then she rolled her eyes and sighed, which he guessed was her way of saying ‘Of course not, why would I like you?’ and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Sadly for Martin, he could not tell how Marisol said ‘I think I really, really like you’ with her eyes. “As I was saying, you’re not serious. So, Valdez, there’s something I need you to help me with.” Marisol lowered her eyes when she noticed he hadn’t figured it yet. She guessed she would have to tell him.

“Okay, but you’ll have to pay me.” Marisol smiled.

“No kisses.” Martin said right away, Marisol frowned.

“Alright, no kisses. What about you—”

“Nothing that might romantically involve us.” She snapped her tongue.

“Hades. Well, I got it. I have something to tell you, and you have to hear me out without interrupting me. All I ask is for you to listen and believe me.” Martin was confused, but he nodded.

“Okay, I’ll hear you out. Now you get to hear me. You know, there is this girl...” he waited for her to show interest in the topic. Of course, Marisol was more than interested. She fixed her eyes on his, and they shone with curiosity.

“Yes?”

“I like her.” He said. Marisol’s eyes on his seemed to pierce through them even more intensely.

“And?”

“And I don’t know how to ask her out. I know it’s dumb but—”

“It isn’t dumb at all.” Marisol said. The way she was looking at him was one she’d never used before, and he could not decipher it.

“Well, then, what do you think I should do?”

“Go right up to her and tell her with all its words you like her. No matter who’s with her, or where is her. If there’re a lot of people don’t care about them. She should definitely fall for that.” He finally caught something in her eyes. She was dreamy. Was there a guy Marisol wanted to walk up to her and tell her he liked her? It was so hard to tell, since Marisol didn’t seem especially fond of anyone at camp, besides Evan or Kristin. “I mean, surprise her, improvise, just go with your best grin, say ‘I like you’ and kiss her. And if she doesn’t back down, kiss her a lot. I know you’re not one for kisses, but—” she smiled mockingly

“Hey!” He complained, though he smiled at her in spite of her teasing, for the first time.

“Anyways, do your best.”

“Well, that seems easier... I guess. At least it’s a simpler plan.” He stared at the Aphrodite cabin from the rooftop. “Thanks, Marisol. Maybe now I’ll get Giselle to go out with me.” Something inside Marisol cracked. She felt dizzy.

“Giselle?” She whispered.

“Yeah, you know her, Marie. Giselle Park from cabin ten. The brunette girl with—”

“Don’t call me like that.” She interrupted him. He turned to her, surprised. He’d never called her anything she disliked, but right up until then he would’ve sworn Marisol would let him call her whatever he wanted.

“Call you what?” He asked.

“ _Marie_.”

“Uhm, okay.” Martin muttered. He sighed. “Right. You wanted to tell me something, what was it?”

“Oh, it was nothing. I forgot Kristin and Evan told me to meet them earlier today. I should go see what they want. Bye.” She walked away, leaving a most confused Martin. If he hadn’t known her well, he would’ve sworn she was crying. He was sure she was pretty upset, though. Was it something he’d done? He looked around for his shirt, and was surprised not to find it anywhere. _Damn, Marisol_.

“Marisol! Did you take my shirt?” He yelled at her figure, which got further little by little.

“Now, why would I ever do so?” She yelled back, without turning around, and she disappeared before Martin got to answer her. She was right, why would he take his shirt? _Yet, why was she mad?_


	2. Apology accepted

> “ _It is a curious thought, but it is only when you see people looking ridiculous that you realise just how much you love them._ ” –Agatha Christie.

Marisol stormed into her cabin like a shaky mess of tears and fell onto her sleeping bag. Her brother had been at the cabin’s entrance, and when he’d tried to ask what had happened, she’d held up a hand. She was so not ready to talk about it. Aunt Lou’s son, Daniel, who was fifteen, sat next to her crying corpse on the floor.

“Soul, you okay?” He asked, brushing her hair. He was such a sweet guy, just like Martin usually was. She felt her heart shatter.

“I just need to be alone, okay?” Marisol said, her voice muffled against the pillow.

“Okay. Just call me if you need anything.” He offered, and she nodded. She was now alone. When she woke up, she noticed she had fallen asleep. _Fuck_. Maybe she’d missed some lesson. She turned around to discover Evan lying on the sleeping bag next to hers.

“Hello, sleeping beauty.” He mocked her.

“Hi, Evan.” Her voice was soft and weak.

“Come on, don’t let it tear you apart.” He tried to cheer her up. _But you do know I can’t act like nothing happened, don’t you?_ Someone knocked on the door, and when the door opened, they saw Kristin walk in. Marisol sat up and bolted up the sleeping bag and fell into Kristin’s arms. Kristin patted her back.

“It’s okay, Marie. It’s okay.” Her sweet voice had a truly calming effect. Kristin, being a daughter of Apollo, had inherited an angelical voice. “Tell me what happened.” They sat on Marisol’s bed. Evan to one side, Kristin to the other. She later realised that that was the first time in days Evan and Kristin sat together in the same room.

“And he doesn’t like me!” Marisol finished her story, beginning to cry again, collapsing into her friends’ gentle arms. They were a good team, Evan doing the listening, Kristin the talk.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure, sweetie. I believe Martin might like you, but he’s so blindfolded by his crush on Giselle he hasn’t noticed yet. I might be wrong, but I think Martin may like you even more than he likes Giselle. His feelings simply don’t match the feelings he has for Giselle and he discards them as romantic. Chill out, move on, and concentrate in other things. If he needs a friend, and you feel like it, be it.” Kristin told her.

“But don’t beg, don’t crawl.” Evan added. Marisol nodded and dried her tears with the back of her hands.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t take him too long to realise he likes me.” Marisol said. “I like him a lot, but I’m not going to wait forever.”

“That’s the spirit, Marie.” Kristin smiled.

“And?” Evan gave her a complicit look.

“Do you mean...?” Marisol asked.

“Yes.”

“Of course. I’ll have the pleasure to tell that Barbie doll to stay away from Martin.”

“You shouldn’t encourage her to do such stuff.” Kristin told Evan, frowning.

“Come on, K, it’ll be fun. Plus, she needs it. Telling people to back off is always a good way to free tensions.” Kristin sighed and Marisol grinned with grim amusement in Evan’s direction. They were going to have some fun.

 

Sebastián had seen Marisol ran into her cabin, and his stubborn sister hadn’t wanted to tell him what was it that had made her upset. Of course, he already knew. It was the same look in her face she’d had when Henry broke up with her. When one of her jerks of boyfriends had slapped her for talking to one of her friends. He couldn’t understand what it was with heartbreak that his sister enjoyed it so much. Because, at least, she didn’t look like she was trying to avoid it. Sebastián already knew where to go and who to sucker punch. He knew who had to give him some answers, and in some ways, it troubled him it had to be Martin Windflowers.

Sebastián was nineteen years old, this was his last summer at Camp Half-Blood and he had known Martin for quite a while. They weren’t the best of friends, but he knew Martin was a decent guy and they’d helped each other a few times. Better said, Martin’d helped him a few times.

“You shouldn’t do it that way.” Ten-year-old Martin told an eleven-year-old Sebastián. Sebastián had look suspiciously at the tiny boy whose amber eyes observed him with curiosity. How could _he_ know the best way to move the canoe around the lake? The boy talking to him was evidently younger. Sebastián back then had a big ego and forgot the fact that it was his first summer at camp. He did it his way, and the canoe turned around. Eleven-year-old soaked up Sebastián had to, then, swallow his pride and ask the little boy for help.

“How should I do it?” The boy smiled gently.

“You steer like this... yeah. It’s patience, not rush.” Sebastián got the hang of it.

“Thank you. I’m Sebastián.”

“I’m Martin.”

He had chosen to believe Martin when he told him he didn’t have any intentions of getting involved romantically with Marisol.

“I’m interested in another girl.” He assured him. Martin was so tall now, it was hard to believe he was the same little boy who’d taught him how to steer a canoe.

“Okay, I believe you.” He said. “But be careful. I won’t like it if I have to come to talk to you again because you hurt her.” Martin’d shrugged.

“Do you think it is wise to believe you can protect your sister forever this way?” He hadn’t meant to be rude, or mean; only curious.

“I do what I can. You don’t know Marisol the way I do. You haven’t seen her cry over a broken heart.” Martin hadn’t seen her cry, alright, but by the pained expression Sebastián had made, he could almost imagine what it was like to see Marisol cry. He didn’t like it.

“I promise you I’ll do my best to keep her safe as well.”

 _You didn’t keep your promise, Windflowers_ , Sebastián blamed him in his mind. He couldn’t help to think of the inevitability of unrequited love, the cruelty yet unintentionally sweetness of it, how Martin not wanting to hurt Marisol didn’t mean she wouldn’t get hurt. It wasn’t in Martin’s hands not to make Marisol like him. Sebastián was looking for someone to blame, and Martin was just there, cutting the weeds away from his flowers. _Couldn’t you take care of my sister like that? You promised, and I believed you_. Sebastián walked up to Martin, and didn’t punch him, didn’t yell at him, he just spilled the words like poison, to let him know they were through. That Marisol was through. _It’s all over after she cries_.

“You hurt her.” He blamed Martin, he told Martin. And Martin turned around, confused but realising what he’d done, and it wasn’t supposed to matter, because he liked another girl, yet he now couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t Marisol and the way she’d left him that day.

“I never wanted to.” He told Sebastián, but he was no longer there, it was just him and his flowers and he couldn’t help to think of how it was a lot quieter and lonelier now Marisol wasn’t there to annoy him. _You asked me why would you ever do it_ , he thought. _Why would you ever make this more complicated, Marisol?_ He tried to wave the idea away, but it was inevitable. The idea of hurting Marisol haunted him, and the blue sky did no longer remind him of Giselle’s eyes, but of the way the sky was reflected on Marisol’s dark eyes. How her smile seemed to shine like the sun that made that one a fine day.

“ _Di immortales_ , Marisol.”

 

There’s no easy way to tell a girl to stay away from a boy who’s not your boyfriend. You are not entitled to act possessive about what’s not yours. Even so, Evan had convinced Marisol it was a good idea to go yell at Giselle. Of course, it was easier to say so than to do so, but she was already standing in front of cabin ten, and turning back would only make a coward of her and Marisol Valdez was many things, but not a coward. She knocked on the door, and a very handsome guy opened it. The petulant expression he had made it easy for Marisol to think of him as an idiot.

“Hi, is Giselle here?” She asked dryly. Kristin behind her took a deep breath. Evan murmured something to her.

“Don’t be such a girl, Kris.” The boy rolled his eyes and turned his head.

“Giselle, a girl is looking for you!” He turned back to Marisol, checked her army vest jacket and winced. “Honey, if you’re here for a fashion advice I can help you just as well as Giselle.” A giggle from Evan. Marisol glared at him, and Kristin elbowed him.

“I _am_ a girl, Ricks.” Kristin whispered back to him.

“I am not here for a fashion advice, thanks.” She told the son of Aphrodite, and sighed.

“You wish you were, then.” That’s when Giselle finally showed herself. Marisol was, for incredible that it may sound, relieved to see her.

“Hello, Park.” Marisol said. Giselle made a disgusted expression, like she’d just encountered a cockroach.

“You were...?”

“Marisol.” Marisol spat, aggressively.

“Marisol, right; what do you want?” Kristin and Evan were there for her, for moral support. She had to do it.

“I want you to quit messing with Martín.” She actually thought Giselle would laugh at her like a cold-hearted bitch, but instead, she shook her head solemnly.

“I’m sorry, Marisol, but I’m not messing with Martin.” Marisol felt something change place inside her. Maybe her heart had changed places with her liver. It felt like that.

“Why? Why would you go for Martín? You could have any guy you wanted, why him?”

“Do you know how unprecedented guys like him are? They are very unprecedented, alright. I don’t want to waste my chances in love with stupid guys just because I can. I might have a better shot at love but, why toss away what can be good and nice for me?” She made good sense, perfect sense. That hurt Marisol even more.

“Because the girls like you have a shot at fixing a bad boy. I only have a chance if I get myself a guy who can treat me right. Don’t you understand? You can make any boy a good guy. I need one that’s already a good guy, I need Martín.” Giselle had acted a bit mean when they’d first met, but she looked sincerely sorry for her now. Obviously, she was an unwanted rival, but now she was losing, Giselle seemed to recognise and pity her situation.

“I’m really sorry, Marisol, I mean it. But if I have a chance with Martin, I’m not throwing that away. Not for you, nor anyone else.” Marisol wanted to slap her but, really, if Martin liked her, there was nothing she could do to undo that. She felt like crying, but she didn’t want to cry in front of Giselle. _Unrequited love is a bitch_ , she thought. Another part of her thoughts differed. Hasn’t requited love been a bigger bitch to you?

 

Martin walked up to the Aphrodite cabin after pacing back and forth a couple hundred times. It had taken him a few torturous minutes after Sebastián had talked to him to decide he had to clear his mind. And what better to clear confusion than going to the source of the problem. He resolved to go pay Giselle a visit. It had surprised him to arrive to a most uncommon scene. There she was. There they were, both of them. Marisol with her hands in fists, and Giselle standing in the doorway, looking at Marisol with a pitiful expression. Giselle looked especially beautiful, but what took the air out of Martin’s lungs was the way Marisol looked so sad. She’d always been such a cheerful person.

“Marisol?” He called her. Marisol turned to look at him but, with her eyes, three other pairs of eyes stopped on him. Kris’s were sorry, Evan’s looked like he wanted to vaporise him and Giselle’s looked surprised.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” Marisol told him. Sebastián had probably already gone to talk to him. The probabilities were Martin already knew he’d broken her heart.

“Come on, Marisol, I don’t know what I did to make you mad, explain to me at least.”

“Just leave me alone, Windflowers.” Her eyes left his face and she retreated. She couldn’t stand to see him right then, and thought it best to walk away.

“Keep in mind what I told you.” She said to Giselle before leaving.

“So, why are you here?” Giselle asked Martin, completely conscious of the fact that Martin had ignored her in favour of Marisol.

“I... I don’t remember.” He actually did remember. He’d gone there to verify he still liked Giselle, and he wanted to bet the game to her. The problem was, he had found his answer, but it didn’t make things any less confusing. He did like Giselle. The problem was he was starting to think that maybe there was someone he cared for more than he did for Giselle, and the thought made him uneasy. Because he’d blown it all up with that other person, and might not have a chance. And he was the good guy; he didn’t know how to be the villain, or how to go back to being the hero.

“Did you want to talk to me?” Giselle asked.

“Yeah, I—”

“Good,” she interrupted him. “I also want to talk to you.” Martin was startled. He no longer knew what to say next. He was a mess. Telling her he didn’t like her wasn’t accurate, but telling her he did wasn’t it either.

“Do you?” He said, at last.

“Yes. I know this might be troubling, since you already have that Marisol girl so into you but—” Giselle knew from what had just happened this was her only shot. If she waited any longer, Martin would elude her, and she would’ve lost him.

“Excuse me?” Martin was absolutely perplexed. He wasn’t expecting this. He was planning on being sincere. About how he’d admired her for her kindness and beauty, but how someone else had crept into his mind without him even noticing and had usurped the place he’d intended to give her. He hadn’t been expecting her having to trouble him. He hadn’t been expecting Giselle to tell her something so crazy like Marisol liking him. Why would Marisol like him? Marisol aimed for badass guys who could make some competition for her in sword skills class. She didn’t aim for guys who spent great part of the day watering plants.

“You know, the bronze skinned girl, with curly black hair and threatening dark eyes; she, who practises with you in sword skills class and is all the time around you; she, who so obviously yet so hopelessly likes you.” Martin knew who Giselle was talking about. But he couldn’t quite make sense of what she was saying. He knew Marisol’s bronze skin, the way it shone under sunlight, they way it looked slightly darker at night, the way the shadows played over it when she stood in front of the campfire. He knew Marisol’s curly black hair, the way it fell when she tied it up in a ponytail she barely ever undid. He also knew how it made her face looks change; the few times she let it fall freely. He knew her dark almond eyes, yet he didn’t find them threatening at all. He thought they were warm and welcoming, smart and joyful.

What Martin didn’t know was that Marisol liked him; like, _really_ liked him. His heart began pounding faster. Suddenly all the flirting and the teasing made sense. Suddenly all the pieces fell on its right place and he felt like such an idiot. Of course she liked him. He just hadn’t been smart enough to notice so. Why Sebastián would have talked to him if not? If Marisol had no real interest in him, then he was no threat. If Marisol had no real interest in him, he couldn’t have hurt her.

“What did you want to tell me, then?” Martin asked Giselle, to avoid being impolite, yet his mind was everywhere but there.

“I like you, Martin.” Martin’s eyes widened. His life’s dream had come true and he didn’t feel any better. It was all wrong, because Giselle hadn’t been the one who’d stolen his heart for good. Everything span around him when the truth left his lips, the words controlling themselves, showing how he felt before he could know about it himself.

“I’m sorry, Giselle.” He spat. He’d said he was sorry but, was he?

“But I thought—” She’d already known, though. She’d just been hopeful.

“I thought so too, but I like someone else more than I like you.” Giselle lowered her eyes and Martin finally understood why he’d said he was sorry for her. He’d broken her heart. He couldn’t help but to feel guilty, although he knew it was nobody’s fault. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah.” Giselle entered her cabin and disappeared behind the door.

 

It was more difficult than he had expected it to be. Getting Marisol to talk to him again was the most difficult thing he’d done since forever. Telling her how he felt about her seemed like wishful thinking, now talking to her was nearly impossible. Even more, she made it her personal mission to take him down in the most humiliating ways during sword skills lessons. He had brief moments of resistance, when she would smile defiantly and he would believe everything was fine again. Yet when he lay on the ground, the sharp edge of her blade caressing dreadfully his neck, anger shone again in her eyes and she walked away. He’d tried to approach her countless times.

“Marisol!” He’d called her once after swords skills class. She was polishing her sword, and she was not sweating a bit. She looked oddly perfect, and Martin decided he’d never appreciated her good looks before, or coming to the realisation that he liked her made her automatically perfect. Maybe both were correct.

“Leave me alone, Windflowers.”

“What you’re doing isn’t fair, Valdez.” He’d sighed, tired and anxious to get her to talk to him.

“Is it fair the way you want _me_ to feel guilty for what _you_ did?” He couldn’t make a good defence to that argument without letting her know that he knew that she, at least, used to like him. And telling her so was a dick move.

“I already told you I don’t know what I did! I’m just asking you to forgive me, whatever it was.”

“Figure it out yourself.” She’d told him, walking away, not turning back when he called out to her again. Marisol was avoiding him, so his plan was getting her to be unable to do so. His chance came that Friday, during capture the flag.

 

Martin and Marisol were in opposite teams, and it was Martin’s job to lure people into jail. He’d gotten a bit better with his sword, so he was actually given strategic missions. He knew exactly _who_ to lure, and the best part was that most people would actually agree with him. Marisol was fast and soundless around the woods, and she knew no one could take her down, she knew she was unstoppable. She heard a crack from some tree nearby and turned around to check it out. Nothing. A little cry left her lips when she lifted her foot to continue her way, and she noticed a creeper had tangled itself around her uncle. She looked up to find Martin staring down at her.

“Let me go!” She said, furious, but she knew it was hopeless to fight the creeper.

“I believe you’re trapped and I can take you to jail now, so I won’t let you go.” He pointed out. _At least now we’re talking about something_ , he thought.

“I still have my sword. Now, let me go!” She didn’t hold his gaze, and he thought maybe he might stand a chance. The creeper grew and tied itself around Marisol’s wrist, making her grip loose around her sword’s hilt. The blade fell with a flat noise.

“Now you don’t” he sighed. “Marisol, whatever I did to you, I’m sorry.” He knew what he’d done to her, but he didn’t want to be a jerk, telling her how she was mad because she was heartbroken.

“You can take me to jail, but shut up, Windflowers.” She was aware he was truly sorry, and that she was being unfair. She’d agreed she would be her friend if she felt like it to Kristin, but she just couldn’t feel like it. She was angry, mostly at herself, but she took it on Martin. She was angry because she’d sworn not to fall for any guys that summer and she’d broken her oath just because she thought it was safe. Who was she to say who’s safe to date and who isn’t?

“Marisol, I have something to tell you.” He made a pause, not wanting to tell her if she wasn’t going to listen. She sighed and rolled her eyes, giving up. She was stuck there anyways, and her resignation was welcomed as an acceptance. “I miss you; I want to talk to you.” It was difficult enough having to tell her how much he missed their friendship. He’d had enough training, though, trying to get her to talk to him every single time he encountered her, no matter when or where.

“Why don’t you go talk to Giselle instead? I bet your little girlfriend will be pleased to hear you out.” Martin shook his head.

“She ain’t my girlfriend. And I don’t need to talk to her; I need to talk to _you_.” Finally she gave him a expression he recognised. Disbelief. She didn’t believe Giselle and him weren’t together.

“Leave me alone. Take me to jail and go take care of your azaleas, do whatever you want, I don’t care. Just— go away.” _She knows of my azaleas_ , his mind echoed. How was he supposed to move on from her when she’d deliberately decided to make him like her? When she’d succeeded so brilliantly at it that she kept making him feel she knew him like no one else? He decided it was no use to keep doing what he was doing, so he let out a defeat sigh and walked up to Marisol, getting rid of the couple metres which separated them. He leaned over her, removing her helmet, to kiss her cheek gently. Marisol blushed violently, the way she did every single thing. Surprise flamed in her gaze, and Martin put her helmet back on her head again, and stepped back. The helmet, as usual was a size or two too big for her, which made her look cute, not like someone who could put you in the ground with a stroke of her sword.

“What the Hades was that?” She asked, lifting her free hand to caress her cheek under the helmet, there were Martin’s lips had been a second ago.

“An apology.” He said, and walked away, the creepers loosening and letting her free and alone in the middle of the forest. _Curse you, Martin Windflowers_ , she thought. _Curse you_.

“Windflowers!” She yelled with all she had. He appeared a second later, breathing heavily, showing he had run his fastest to get back to her. She couldn’t help but smile. He’d won.

“Okay. I forgive you, on one condition. And you have to stop following me like an abandoned puppy, it’s sad.” A wide smile formed on his lips.

“As you wish, Marisol. Which condition?”

“I get a kiss.” Martin’s heart skipped a beat. When he’d gone against all he knew of life to kiss her on the cheek, her skin had felt so warm and soft under his lips. And he’d wondered what would it feel like to kiss her on the lips. Wild thought, I know.

“Are you kidding me?” He had to ask. Marisol’s grin appeared immediately.

“Of course I’m kidding, dummy. You’re not getting any close to kissing this pair of lips as far as I’m concerned.” He let go of a fake laugh. Seriously, why did Giselle think Marisol was after him? Yet, then again, it made sense. She was just very good at hiding how she felt... if she still felt that way. There was a possibility she’d moved on. Maybe it wasn’t such a miracle she’d forgiven him, after all. Even so, he didn’t want to push his luck; but he did. The creepers tied themselves around her again. “I’m sorry, I believe I almost let a prisoner escape, silly me.” She sighed as she rolled her eyes at him.

“Don’t I get a free pass ticket or something for agreeing to talk to you again?” Martin made a thoughtful face.

“I don’t think so.”

“May I get to kiss you now?” She teased, a bit insecure whether it was too soon to begin use the same tactic twice. It may have also been too soon to restart the teasing. Apparently it was fine, because he didn’t tell it was too soon. In fact, it was odd, because for the first time ever, Martin didn’t complain; he didn’t say anything at all. He was thinking how unfair it was that now he might agree to her capricious requests, she no longer wanted him to bend to her will.

They were walking to the jail when Marisol stopped abruptly and made a sign to Martin to keep quiet. Not so far away from them, Kristin was arguing with Evan. The argument seemed pretty serious, and they didn’t seem to notice they still were in the middle of the game. Marisol waited, in absolute silence, keeping her index finger on Martin’s lips to instruct him to keep quiet. He did not even flinch, just leaned over her shoulder to see the same scene she was staring at.

“I don’t know what did I do to you, seriously!” Kristin yelled. Marisol didn’t think she’d ever seen Kristin yell at anyone before.

“It isn’t you, K, I just need to think about it, okay? I’m not sure...” Evan looked like he couldn’t get the right words.

“You’re not sure about what? About what, Ricks? You don’t get to ditch me, I’m your freaking friend, you know! You owe me–” Evan held her face between his hands. Marisol got that feeling of weird déjà vu, when you don’t exactly feel you’ve already been somewhere or done something, but you know exactly how the current events are going to turn out.

“I’m not sure I want you to be my friend, K, that’s my problem. I’m not sure how I feel about you, so if you could just shut up and give me some time to make up my mind I could keep myself from messing it all up.”

“How could you possibly mess it up, Ricks?” She was trembling. Kristin was trembling and Marisol felt like she might start to tremble as well.

“I could mess up by telling you things like these without being clear about them.” Kristin opened her mouth to say something, but she was speechless. Evan just held her face in his hands and stared into Kristin’s dark eyes. There was only silence and Marisol, getting impatient.

“Cut the crap, Evan! You like her, so for the love of Hestia, kiss her already!” Their eyes drifted to meet Marisol’s and her mocking smirk. They didn’t mention it, but they did notice Martin standing behind her. They laughed nervously.

“It’ll be as you say, boss.” Evan obliged, and pulled Kristin into a deep kiss she answered happily. Marisol pulled Martin away from the scene towards the jail.

“Well, that was a bit awkward, but also quite nice.” Martin laughed nervously. How close had he been to do the same thing as Evan a few minutes ago?

“Do you think it’ll last?”

“Well, Evan’s a jerk when he wants to, and apparently Kris has quite an unknown character, so I’d say it’ll be rough, but they should be okay.”

“Do you think we’ll be okay?” Marisol thought he was kidding, but the look in his face was dead serious.

“Of course, pretty boy. You’ll be my new best friend; now my two previous ones have decided to make of me a third wheel.”

“That I can do, alright.” _I’m not sure if I’ll be happy being just your best friend forever, though_ , his mind told her.

 

Then on, Martin would try to speak his mind, but Marisol would tease him as always, making him blush and shut up. This change did not pass unnoticed to Marisol, but she wouldn’t let her hopes up. They hadn’t talked about what she had been angry about and, anyways, Marisol didn’t want to get hurt anymore. She was going to just let things be. The problem was that, sometimes, things got a bit awkward.

“Uh, I’m sorry.” He’d apologised to her when he’d bumped into her after dinner. Marisol had just smiled shyly and shrugged.

“It’s okay.” There was this awkward silence which sometimes decided to make them company. “Where are you headed to?”

“The armoury.”

“Oh, I’m going there too.” Sigh.

“Cool.”

“Yeah, cool.” When they’d reached the armoury, Martin tried to open the door for her, and Marisol attempted to open it by herself, making Martin’s hand closed around Marisol’s which was on the doorknob. She couldn’t help to think of how big and soft Martin’s hands were. _Hades, I can’t go on like this_ , they both thought as they clumsily offered each other to enter first.

“You go first.” Martin said, immediately.

“No, it’s okay, you go first.”

“Come on; let me be the gentleman, you go first.”

“Okay.” She murmured, and walked inside the armoury. They got out of there as quick as they could afterwards.

It wasn’t usually that awkward between them all the time, but there were occasions. Like once after campfire. They’d been talking the entire campfire about how Evan hadn’t been able to look at anything but at Kristin as she helped with the sing-along, and they’d ended up sitting by the fire, watching the flames dance from one colour to another.

“Evan is really pathetic. He’s like a snail man.” Martin chuckled.

“A snail man?”

“Yeah, he drools and he drags himself after her.” Martin laughed quite hard, though it wasn’t polite to laugh at others and he felt bad for it.

“That’s not good for you to say about your friend.”

“But it’s the truth. My brother’s a snail man too.” Martin swallowed back the laughter this time.

“So, what now? If a guy looks abstracted from the world staring at the girl he likes when she’s being amazing, that’s a bad thing?”

“It depends. If you’re my friend or my brother, it is. Because I’m entitled to make fun of all the pathetic things they do for love.” Martin shook his head, amused.

“If I ever do so, you’ll call me snail man as well?” Marisol giggled then. Her dark, warm eyes caught Martin’s golden ones, and she stared for a second.

“It depends again, on who you date.” _What if I dated_ you _?_ He asked in his mind, but didn’t find the courage to ask her for real. What would she do if he told her? If he told her that she was a picture in every flower he took care of, and that the more time he spent with her, the more he felt like he should hold her hand, because her hand looked just so lonely. He was afraid that now he’d retrieved her friendship, she’d moved on and he’d stayed in the past, in the Marisol who was after him. If he messed up, and lost her, he’d feel really blue. He hadn’t said no to Giselle to be this afraid, though. She deserved better from him since his rejection. She deserved to lose to a victory, not to lose to a lost.

“What if I dated you?” He asked, unable to believe the words had left his lips. Marisol blinked, and Martin noticed how long her eyelashes were.

“Like that could ever happen.” She laughed, his heart shattered a bit. “But, if you dated me, I’d expect you to stare at me _all_ the time. Not just when I’m being amazing.” He made half a smile, his heart trembling the way hearts do when Eros’s arrow wounds you out of the blue.

“That sounds a bit difficult to do, since you are amazing all the time, how could anyone find a time to look at you when you’re not being extraordinary if it doesn’t exist?” She punched him lightly in the arm. Truth was she’d forgotten to breath and wanted for it to go unnoticed.

“Come on, pretty boy. Enough flirting, I don’t know who are you practising for, but if you keep listing my qualities that way, I’ll think I’m perfect and I’ll be even more annoying than I already am. So, it’s getting late, shall I walk thee till thy cabin, sire?” Martin cackled, and got up, offering his hand for her to stand up. “Why, thank thee, fine sire.” She walked by his side until his cabin, which was closer than hers.

“Shouldn’t I accompany you to your cabin instead?”

“Aw, come on, Martín, I’m a big girl and camp’s not that dangerous. I can make it to my cabin on my own. You, on the other hand... well, I’d prefer it for you to go everywhere accompanied.”

“By whom?” She was beautiful in the dark, as well as in the light. She’d got him, that was for sure.

“That’s for you to find out. Good night, Martín.” She jumped to kiss him on the cheek, too short for doing it without having to lift her feet from the ground. Martin’d just decided to look away from her for a second, to take a break from her beauty and that bubbly sensation she gave him. He turned his head, just when her lips were about to kiss his cheek, and as a result, her lips smacked his own lips. Like in slow motion, they saw each other’s eyes; they felt how their lips touched, and how Marisol slowly descended back to ground level.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to–” Martin nodded, nervous. There weren’t butterflies in his stomach, there were little lions, scratching and biting his insides. Making him hesitate and take a deep breath and think how nice it would be to repeat what had just happened. But he was a gentleman, and a gentleman always does the right thing.

“It’s okay Marisol, it was my fault. Let’s not make a big deal of it, okay?” She let the air out of her lungs in a deep sigh of relief. She didn’t want for things with Martin to turn awkward. She liked him, but she was fine if they could only be friends. She was okay as long as she could stay by his side.

“Thanks, you’re the best. Sleep tight!” She said, before walking away, and Martin bit his lips. _What was I thinking? It is already a big deal to me_. But he didn’t want to worry her, and he wasn’t sure where she stood. She’d seemed pretty relieved to not make a big deal of it, though. Maybe he was right; maybe Marisol Valdez had moved on from Martin Windflowers, the snail man, who stared pathetically at her until her silhouette was no longer distinct from the shadows.

 

 

“Are you sure you don’t have my shirt?” He asked once after dinner, when she’d come up to him right after finishing her meal.

“Once again, why would I?” She rolled her eyes, just a bit guilty for lying. He decided he wasn’t going to get a favourable answer this time neither, so he moved on.

“Why are you here anyways? I mean, you used to hang out with Kristin and Evan after dinner, didn’t you?” Marisol winced.

“They are in plain can’t-get-enough-of-you phase so it just feels awkward to hang around with them because when you’re not there, they’re making out, and when you happen to be there, they imagine they’re making out, which is equally disgusting.” She complained.

“They’re?” He had thought them shyer.

“Yes. I mean, I’m happy for them, but for Aphrodite’s sake, they could take it a little easier.” She lifted her eyes to the sky, as if for saying ‘Why?!’ to the gods.

“So you have no plans.” He deduced.

“No, just watching you water your cabin’s flowers.”

“How do you—?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I declare myself guilty of stalking. In my defence, I didn’t know you were into Park back then.” She said before she took notice of what she was saying.

“I see.” He said absent-mindedly. They were near his cabin then, and Martin began looking for his watering can.

“I’m sorry.” Marisol, after giving it some thought, had concluded if Martin didn’t date Giselle, was due to Giselle had probably rejected him. So she believed it might still be kind of a sore topic.

“It’s okay.” He said, as he climbed over the roof.

“Can I ask why you never dated Giselle?” Martin looked at her over his shoulder, he smiled.

“Go ahead.”

“Did she let you down because you are a great flower geek or—”

“Hey, that was rude.” He complained.

“Sorry. But you know it’s true.” She grinned. “Anyways, did she, or didn’t she?”

“No, she didn’t.” He admitted.

“Then why?” She was truly surprised, which kind of hit Martin’s ego really hard.

“I rejected her.” He told her, after a couple seconds of doubtful silence.

“You did what?! Why would you do so?”

“Because” and he turned around so he could face her, even if from the rooftop. “I realised I had somebody else in mind.” Marisol felt how oxygen left her lungs and she stared for a couple Mississippi’s before blushing and looking away. He clearly hadn’t meant her, but she still wanted to believe so. It was no use, though, because Martin was her friend; _just_ her friend.

“Who, me?” She teased, with a mocking smirk. Martin looked away.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.” He said, going back to water the flowers. She stayed silent for a while, watching the colours of sunset flurrying on his coppery brown hair. “Watch out.” He called from the roof, dropping a flower, which she caught in the last moment. It was a brown flower, which seemed quite common. She looked up.

“Which kind of flower is this one?”

“It’s a chocolate cosmos.” He answered. “You may not know it, but chocolate cosmos are very rare flowers. In fact, the wild ones are believed to be extinct, the only existent specimens are cloned. That would be true, but the Demeter cabin holds the only non-cloned still alive chocolate cosmos in the world. Cool huh?” She look down at the flower. To her, it just looked like any other cosmos, except it was brown.

“You are such a flower nerd.”

“Guilty as charged. That flower reminds me of you, though, so I thought you should have one.” Marisol blushed.

“Why does it remind you of me?” He jumped off the roof, falling in front of her; falling _for_ her.

“Because it looks like a common flower, like there’s gazillions of flowers just like that one. Yet, then again, it’s an extremely rare and endangered species.” Silence floated between them, and they stared at each other for a while. Marisol was so nervous she did not know what to do. She’d never been told something so sweet and nice before. Martin really was one of a kind. One really cute and good guy. She cleared her throat.

“Uh, thanks.” She managed to say, as that night played in the back of her head for the thousandth time. The jump, the kiss, the good night sleep.

“Don’t mention it.” Martin said, ideas fighting in his head. She looked so cute, nervous and blushed, that he felt the sudden urge of kissing her, which he’d only felt when he’d kissed her on the cheek to apologise, and when they’d kissed accidentally. The urge was stronger than ever, though. That one time he’d kissed her on the cheek without asking for permission had been rude enough for his taste, and he didn’t think it polite to just go and kiss her now. Then again, he wanted to take her by surprise, which put him in a difficult situation. He turned around and went to fill his water can when he cursed under his breath.

“ _Di immortales_ ” he murmured, dropped the watering can and went back to Marisol, who was playing with the flower between her fingers. _Am I as special as this flower for real?_ He put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye.

“I’m sorry, Marisol. Can I try something that might be impolite?” He asked. Marisol was so startled that she didn’t even think what he might have wanted to do.

“Yeah, I guess.” She shrugged, getting his hands off her shoulders in the act. She was beginning to wonder what Martin might want to do; beginning to wonder why was acting so strange, when she felt his hands on her cheeks and a second after his lips over hers. One, two. It took her brain two exact seconds to realise what was going on. She saw Martin’s face blushing bright, so close to hers, his eyes shut with the intensity of nervousness. She closed her own eyes and kissed back, noticing how his lips were stiff and doubtful, even when he’d started the kiss. It suddenly struck her. What if...? She put her hands over his, and led the kiss to be slow and gentle. He pulled back to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry.” Martin apologised. “It was rude, I shouldn’t have—”

“Martín.” She said, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.

“I know, it would have been better if—” he seemed a bit panicky, which she only thought infinitely cute.

“Martín, listen to me.” Her giggles got his attention, and he looked at her, anxious.

“What?” Marisol put her hands at both sides of his face, making him stare down into her eyes without being able to look away.

“It’s okay. It really is.” She said.

“You sure?” He asked, still a bit troubled for kissing her without her real permission; but he was starting to feel really, really happy. If Marisol liked him back, everything in the world was fine.

“You don’t need permission to kiss me.” Marisol smirked.

“I don’t?” He was plainly confused.

“Do you need to ask a chocolate cosmos whether you can kiss it?” Martin thought about it, very serious.

“Well, it’s a good question, the flower can’t answer me, but I’m sure it’d prefer it if I—” Marisol rolled her eyes and jumped to kiss him briefly. _Damn_ , she thought. _I can’t kiss him properly if he doesn’t lean a bit_.

“You _don’t_ need permission to kiss me.” She assured him. “Now, can you get down here a bit, so I can kiss you properly?” Marisol pouted, clearly unhappy with the current situation.

“Sure.” He said, absent-mindedly, unable to believe she’d welcomed him, just like that. She kissed him, and this time his lips were slightly softer, like he was beginning to get the hang of it. She was so happy she couldn’t contain herself, and tried tipping her tongue on his lips, but he pulled away. Martin was so red she wanted to take a picture to remember that precise moment for eternity. She knew that was going to be forever her favourite shade of red.

“I’m sorry; it was just... a little bit too much.” He apologised, but she limited herself to a chuckle.

“Is it just me or was it your first kiss that one a couple moments ago?” Martin flinched.

“Was it that bad?”

“No, pretty nice, actually. Just curious.” He was a cutie and Marisol couldn’t stand it anymore. “You know, _Martin_ ,” and she was careful to pronounce his name properly, “I like you. I’ve liked you for quite a while and I don’t think I’m going to be able to hide it anymore.  In fact, I really, really like you. I like you a lot more than just ‘a lot’ and I don’t care if I’m not making any sense here.” Martin held her hands, still shaky from the kiss and everything. His chest was filled with a strange sensation, but he liked the way his lungs felt heavy and breathing felt like a miracle. Because it was an old tale, what many guys ditch for a hotter body, but he liked a girl, and that girl liked him. It was more than enough for him to be happy.

“I like you a lot more than just ‘a lot’, too.” He smiled. “Would you be my girlfriend, Marisol?” Marisol went speechless. _Do people still ask this?_ She thought lovestruck. She had only dated guys who kissed you and made you ask for the names and such. Sometimes they were over the ‘childish’ cliché of ‘labelling’ relationships.

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You quit calling me Marisol and find a nickname to call me by. I get tired of people calling me by my full name all the time, they’re wearing it down. _Boring_.” Martin let go of the air he’d been retaining. He’d feared something worse.

“I guess I can manage—”

“Marie is not an option.”

“Shoot.” He thought about it for a while. “What about Aster?”

“Aster?”

“A flower made out of the tears of the goddess Asterea, who cried because she saw no stars when looking upon the Earth. They are meant to be stars for us who can’t touch the sky.” He blurted out, and flushed a second later. “Gee, that was a really gooey thing to say, wasn’t it?” Marisol nodded, pursing her lips in a ‘Sadly’ expression.

“Too bad I like it, so you’ll have to use it, Martín.”

“Will you ever quit calling me that?” He whined.

“Of course not. I like it and it bothers you, which makes it the perfect nickname. Would you prefer snail man?” Martin snapped his tongue.

“I think I’ll stay with Martín” he agreed. “And I’m not going to be a snail man. I’ll be a strong-willed boyfriend.”

“Huh, I’d like to see that.” She mocked him.

“Go fetch me some food, woman.” He tried to make his best impression of a rude, bad man. Marisol cracked up.

“Sure, Mr. Badass.” She said between laughs. “You should just stay as a sweet flower geek. Bad boy doesn’t fit you, really.” Martin pouted, but decided it was a good thing she liked him better the way he was. Marisol’s expression drifted to one of concern.

“I have to tell you something before we can go on as a couple.” She sounded dead serious, and Martin worried.

“What?” His amber eyes were full of concern and Marisol felt a pinch of guilt for playing him like that.

“I did take your shirt.” She said, smiling guiltily.

“I knew it!” Martin exclaimed with relief. “So, when can I have it back?”

“Never. I’m sorry, but it’s my shirt now. I sincerely think it better for you to get another one.”

“But what would you want my shirt for? Wait. Did you sleep with—?”

“That’s none of your business!” Marisol looked away.

“Of course it is. It’s my shirt!” He walked around so he could meet her eyes again. “Did you sleep with it?”

“My lips are sealed.”

“But did you?”

“Won’t answer.”

“Oh my gods, you did.”

“You’ll never be certain.”

“Yes, you did.”

“It’s a possibility.”

“I can’t believe my girlfriend steals shirts so she can sleep with them, I feel harassed.” He made a threatened expression.

“Think what you want.” She said, faking anger. She lifted her chin, and shut her eyes as she pouted.

“Don’t get mad, I was just messing with you.” Marisol peeked with one of her eyes and saw Martin doing puppy eyes.

“Why are you so adorable?” She wanted to know, exasperated by his cuteness, messing his hair and pulling his face down so she could kiss the charm out of him.


	3. It starts with a kiss

> “ _You are an Universe of Universes and your soul a source of songs._ ” –Rubén Darío.

Marisol discovered dating Martin was one way to have a really sweet and unforgettable summer at camp. He was very attentive alright, but he was also nice and dedicated. Dating Martin was dating a nerdier version of the rare and commonly thought inexistent blue prince. He never tried anything she didn’t force him to (not really, she wouldn’t make Martin do anything he didn’t want to).

“Come on, it’s not a sin.” She told him for the thousandth time. “Are there even sins according to the Olympians?” She thought aloud. “Anyways; it’s not a crime.” He was very naive which only proved Marisol’s notion of him being a cutie.

“Are you really sure about this, Aster, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Everybody makes out shamelessly in front of everyone here; I don’t mind a little tiny kiss to tell every single girl who’s got an eye on you that you’re taken.”

“There’re no girls who’ve got an eye on me.” He chuckled.

“ _That_ ’s what you thought of me, and look at me now.” She smiled. “I’m your girlfriend. And I want everyone to know I like you even if it gets me pranks on what a flower nerd you are.”

“Have you?”

“Have I what?” She asked, confused.

“Received any pranks for that?” She rolled her eyes.

“Kiss me.”

“You truly–”

“Now.”

“Okay.” He giggled, and cupped her cheeks gently. She passed her arms around her neck, almost hanging from it, standing on tiptoe and still too far from his lips. He leaned, and kissed Marisol, tender, careful. The way a kiss is when you say ‘I really, really like you and I’d like to spend a lot of the future with you.’ That’s how Martin felt. And Martin was very good at putting feelings into kisses. He kissed the back of her hand before leaving to his table on the dining pavilion, while his sisters giggled and blushed, and most probably mocked him. She could’ve sworn they were singing the ‘Marisol and Martin, sitting on a tree’ song when she passed by in her way to her own table. Evan gave her a sly smile.

“Looks like you two cut the crap as well, didn’t you?” He joked.

“Shut up, Ricks, it took you five years to date Kris. It took me less than a summer to date Martin.” He held his hands up.

“I never said it was a competition.”

“Just in case.” Marisol grinned.

 

She realised Camp Half-Blood had a wide collection of rare and endangered flowers, and some others which were believed to be extinct. She also took notice she should be wary about the dryads, who seem to devour Martin with their eyes whenever he walked by. He was just too naive to notice their dark intentions.

“You know, that dryad from two seconds ago, just checked you out.” Martin looked at her, puzzled. They were taking a walk after his canoe lessons, and he didn’t know what to say in his defence.

“No she didn’t.” Marisol narrowed her eyes.

“Of course she did.”

“Who would’ve thought you were this jealous.” He was amused by Marisol’s attitude, and she pouted.

“Statistically, I’m the one with more probabilities of losing you to another woman.” She argued.

“Do you trust me that little?” He arched up his eyebrows, surprised. Marisol giggled.

“It’s not about you. But there’s a thousand other girls after you now they’ve realised you’re dateable material, and the sooner or later there’ll be one who’s prettier, or smarter, or nicer and I will no longer be the best option.” Martin cackled, and Marisol was stunned. Was he making fun of her?

“Aster, I think you haven’t understood yet that I like _you_. And I do for the way you are. I don’t think there’re any prettier, smarter, or nicer girls. And if there’re, Olympus knows I don’t give a damn because I like you for being you, Marisol, and I don’t want any other girls, or any other dryads, for that matter.” He put a loose hair lock behind her ear. Marisol caught his hand and kissed it, her heart trembling, feeling she should’ve done something remarkably good to deserve something like this. She had to have done something outstanding for the gods to believe she deserved Martin.

“You... I like you, Martín. I like you and I want you to know I’ll bother you even after the summer is over. This ain’t just a summer romance.” She was playing with the fabric of his shirt, and he was hugging her by her waist.

“I’m not letting this go either, Aster. I hope to make this a fall romance too. And a winter one, and a spring one, and so on.” Marisol smiled, and Martin kissed her nose.

 

Marisol’s last two weeks with Martin were (almost) perfect, even when her brother had threatened Martin to kill him a couple times.

“You’ve driven me to do this, Martin. I have no option but to get rid of you. You already hurt her once.” He’d told him once, during cabin inspection.

“I wasn’t into her back then! This time’s different, I swear!” Sebastián had laughed.

“It’s alright, I get it.” He patted Martin in the back and smiled. “But hurt her again and you’ll be monsters’ food.” Sebastián added, still grinning. Yet Martin was Sebastián’s friend for a reason, and knew he wasn’t being serious. At least, not entirely. The hostile phase didn’t last much, though, and whenever Marisol remembered the time she found them being bros again, she wanted to die.

“I’m just worried for my little sister, you know man? She’s dated so many terrible guys I don’t want to see her getting hurt again.” Sebastián told Martin while in their canoe lesson.

“I know what you mean. I worry about her a lot, too. The other day I ran into her during capture the flag and I don’t care how good a swordsman she is, the guy she was fighting could have easily broken her into two.”

“I know right? She takes so many unnecessary risks.” They went on like that for a while. When the lesson was over, Marisol appeared to pick Martin up. Both Sebastián and Martin stared at her as if she were a ghost. Sebastián cleared his throat.

“Aster, your brother and I’ve been talking.” Martin said, as if he were a dad about to give his son ‘the talk’.

“And we decided it would be better to wrap you in bubble paper and lock you up so you can suffer no harm at all.”

“Excuse me?” Marisol was startled.

“It’s for your best” Martin said.

“Believe us” Sebastián agreed. Marisol rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Get away from my boyfriend.” She told her brother, taking Martin by his arm and dragging him away from the canoe lake.

But two almost perfect weeks don’t mean some fun. Like the fun Aria Grace had one afternoon at Marisol’s expenses. Aria was the only daughter of Jason Grace and Piper McLean. She had her mother’s light brown hair and hypnotising eyes, but had inherited her father’s factions and skin tone. As an only child with both of her parents, Aria could’ve developed several distinctive personalities, but she grew up to become a seriously demanding and capricious girl. Almost everybody in the Hermes cabin tried to avoid Aria’s moody commands, so Aria was a pretty lonely girl at camp; except for those who expected to date her someday and a couple girls from the Aphrodite cabin. She was indeed a beautiful fourteen year old girl.

Marisol had fallen asleep on her sleeping bag without realising after she had helped the Hephaestus cabin with their chariot for the next race. Hermes’s cabin had done a deal with them and was expecting to win that race. Aria found Marisol fast asleep and, of course, couldn’t resist the temptation to get her hands over Marisol. She was constantly threatened by the children of Aphrodite, who thought they had to do something about her looks. They’d tried to give her a makeover four times during the past five summers and she’d escaped victorious each time. She wasn’t counting on Aria, though.

She woke up to the feeling of someone combing her hair, which was something Marisol never did in order not to ruin her curls. When she opened her eyes, she saw the damage. _Hell, why do I have such a heavy sleep_. Aria had called on her few fellows from Aphrodite’s cabin to help her out. There was make up everywhere and they had put lip gloss on her. She could feel the disgusting taste and the sticky sensation. Paralysed, she tried to think of something –anything, she could do to scare them away and make them leave her alone. She tried to reach her ankle, where a celestial bronze anklet clung onto her skin. She caught it into two determined fingers, and unclasped it. _Anávo_ , her sword, showed up then.

“Get out!” She yelled at what, to her, were a bunch of fashion freaks. They stared at her sword, then back at her. They knew they could never win Marisol if she had a sword in her hand, so they left. Aria tried to leave with them, but it didn’t work for her. Marisol held her back by the neckline of her orange tank top.

“Just what did you think you were doing, Grace?” Aria pouted and rolled her eyes.

“Only giving you a makeover, seriously, Soul, you should thank me, you look outstanding.” Marisol freaked then and went to the bathroom, only to find out she was wearing full make up. She’d used only Chapstick her entire life, and now there were eye shadow, mascara, lip gloss, blush powder, and only Aphrodite knew what else. Her hair was held up in a perfect bun. She tried to wash out the makeup, but the lip gloss wouldn’t fade. She hated it.

“Why doesn’t it go away?” She asked to Aria, who was smiling to herself by then, amused by Marisol’s freak out.

“It’s Aphrodite’s special lip gloss; it doesn’t fade for twenty four hours. I mean it, we spent so many wonderful things on you, it’s a shame you tried to take it all away. Don’t even bother with the hair bun. It’ll stay there at least a week. It suits you really nicely, if you ask me, though.” Marisol asked herself if Uncle Jason would mind much if she strangled his daughter. But she could hear her mother’s voice in her head. ‘Behave, Marisol.’ As if she’d behaved so much when she was trapped in Ogygia. _Seriously, mum_. “You’re doing my duties. You’re cleaning the stables for me the whole week and don’t complain ‘cause I’m being generous. I could convince Evan into playing a prank on you and we both know how that turned out the last time.” If glares could kill, Marisol would’ve been vaporised on the spot.

“Hades, Soul, I was just trying to be nice.”

“And I’ve told you not to try to be nice to me several times.”

 

She hid behind a couple bushes to wait for Martin to finish picking strawberries. She was supposed to pick them with him, but she was too embarrassed of her new look to show up like that in public. Martin had to feel lucky she was going to let him see her like that at all. As he was leaving, walking in front of her bush, she tried to get his attention.

“ _Pssst_.” She called out to him. Martin turned to the bush and narrowed his eyes. When he was sure there was nothing, he turned to walk away. “ _Pssst!_ ” Marisol insisted. There were only two options: either there was a dryad mocking him or he’d begun to hear plants talking instead of just understanding their general emotions. (Yeah, you douche reader who just thought how it was weird Martin understood plants; plants do have feelings). But then he noticed he was wrong. It was neither a dryad nor the bush; it was an entirely different kind of being. It was Marisol.

“Aster?” He arched an eyebrow. Marisol shushed him.

“Quiet, they could hear you.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be picking strawberries with me today?”

“Got hold back. Anyways, I just came here to tell you I’ll be trapped inside my cabin the rest of the week, so... yeah.” Martin made the math.

“Wait, what? Marisol, the rest of the week is all there’s left of camp!” Her eyes found the grass suddenly interesting.

“I know, but something happened and I can’t fix it, I’m sorry.”

“I might not be an expert, but this looks to me as the lamest break up technique of history.” He told her, a bit shaky, but never hesitant. “Why are you hiding anyways?” She felt totally embarrassed, she didn’t want him to see her like that, so not... like herself. But he feared something worse, and she wouldn’t have him doubting her like that. She stood up, with a defiant look in her eyes. The lip gloss made her lips shine and the hair bun made her look fresher and cuter. She’d forgotten her army vest jacket on her sleeping bag, so it was just her shirt and her shorts. Martin was astonished. He’d been expecting anything but that.

“Whoa, are you wearing make up?” She glared at him.

“Aria found me asleep and defenceless.” She exhaled and pouted. “I look terrible, I know, just –don’t try to stop me from hiding in my cabin, please.”

“You’re being ridiculous. You look fine.”

“You don’t understand; I don’t feel comfortable looking like this, this is not like me.”

“Looking like what, pretty? Marisol, there’s nothing wrong with the way you look.”

“It just doesn’t fit me. Looking girly and all of that.” Martin chuckled.

“Aster, you _are_ a girl. Girls have girliness within them.” Marisol was surprised. She raised her eyebrows, no guy before had said anything like that to her. They usually only knew she was a girl because she had boobs. It occurred to her that, to Martin, she was maybe as girly as Giselle, which was both nice and terrible.

“Do you really think so?” Martin smiled and took her hand to take her for a walk. She obliged without complaints, forgetting completely how she wanted to hide.

“I agree with you that you’ve a natural beauty and you don’t need to wear make up to look stunning. But some lip gloss and a different hairdo don’t make you look bad, they fit you quite alright.” I’m naturally beautiful? She couldn’t help to think. Marisol wasn’t one to get compliments from her boyfriends. Bad boys don’t tell you if you look pretty. “Plus, I dig the hair bun.” Marisol giggled.

“I bet you’re saying this just to make me feel better.” Martin was about to answer to that, but she kept on talking. “Even if you’re doing so... thanks, Martín.”

“What for?” He felt the urge to ask.

“For not being a douche.” He hugged her from behind, and Marisol looked at him over her shoulder.

“Who could be a douche to you?” _Many have been_ , she answered in her mind, but decided not to ruin the moment, because Martin was nice and he told her sweet things without asking anything in exchange for it.

 

When summer was over, Marisol and Martin had everything fixed. Since none of them were year rounders and (thankfully) both lived in New York, they’d agreed to date periodically and see each other whenever they could manage to. Martin was quite a busy guy because he was a student of excellence and had to keep it that way in order to maintain a scholarship in a private school he could never afford otherwise. He needed to attend it in order to get to Harvard, Yale, Princeton or Stanford, where he intended to study botany or something like that. As they were saying goodbye at Half-Blood hill, Marisol eyed the bottom of the hill, and then whispered to Martin.

“Do you wanna see something funny?” She asked.

“Okay.”

“Kiss me goodbye.” Martin frowned; he’d already seen the bottom of the hill, where Sebastián was hugging happily a dark skinned, curly haired, tall, fit girl who was most likely Gwen. Maybe she’d left Camp Jupiter a couple days just to check on him. Next to them were a couple who looked awfully like parents.

“But, Aster, your family is looking this way—”

“Trust me.” Martin shrugged, uneasy. “I just want to say goodbye properly to you, just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case you decide to avoid me during the year.” Martin laughed and gave Marisol a kiss, as gentle and sweet as all of his kisses.

“You ruffian!” Leo exclaimed, as he saw his _little girl_ kissing with a boy on top of Half-Blood Hill. “Hey you, you roughneck next to my daughter! Get over here so I can blast you properly!” Marisol chuckled.

“Cut the drama, _papá **[1]**_ ” she yelled at her father, and then turned to Martin. “You see? My dad is such a hilarious man when he gets angry.” Martin winced when he looked downhill. By then, Leo was trying to get to them, being stopped by his wife, who held him by his braces, not letting him get any further. Calypso gave Martin an apologetic smile from the distance. Marisol’s mother struck Martin as a very beautiful woman, and he could see their resemblance, even when Marisol shared many of her face features with her father. But that beauty which was so natural had been passed from Calypso to Marisol without a doubt.

“What are you doing, woman? Haven’t you seen what that shameless boy was doing to our daughter?” Leo questioned Calypso, irritated, though Martin couldn’t tell whether they were just playing or Marisol’s dad was seriously telling off his wife.

“Don’t make a scene again, Leo.” The tiredness in Calypso’s voice told Martin that was something which happened often and, by simple deduction, it was mainly a game. Mainly.

“I think I should go now” Marisol flinched. “See you soon, pretty boy.” She patted his shoulder so he knew he had to lean so she could kiss his cheek comfortably. He was so used to this gesture by then, that it came naturally, without thinking of it.

“What? Again with ‘pretty boy’?” Martin whined. Marisol kissed his cheek goodbye.

“But you are.” She insisted as she walked off, waving her hand, turning to her dad, telling him things to calm him down.

“Hey _papá_ , you look grand, as handsome as ever.” Leo grinned proudly, but went back to rage almost right after.

“What was that, _hija_?” Marisol shrugged.

“Just my boyfriend, but oh, have I told you about the last thing I forged?” Leo was about to react to the word ‘boyfriend’ when the talk about forging reached him.

“No, tell me all about it.” He said with excitement, and Calypso giggled. _They’re a funny family_ , Martin thought from the distance, a little blue.

 

 

Kisses were not something you simply gave away. Martin’d had several opportunities before, in silly teenage games, or to satisfy a couple needy girls. But he believed in kissing just when he meant it. That’s why Martin Windflowers was eighteen years old and had never kissed a girl before Marisol. That’s why when his lips touched hers, he panicked when he realised he didn’t truly know what to do. He’d chosen flawlessly, though, and Marisol took care of the problem, leading him subtly, her lips soft and natural against his, like she’d done that a million times. The thought worried Martin a bit. He knew for a fact Marisol had dated other guys before, and he suddenly felt as if he were competing against the ghosts of all of her ex-boyfriends. Thankfully for him, if there was one thing Marisol was, it was faithful. She would never betray him, and if she was by his side, it was because she truly wanted to.

Maybe it was that, maybe it was the way she was so beautiful when flustered or the arousing colour her skin turned when she blushed. Maybe it was the hypnotising colour of her eyes. He wasn’t sure, but one thing was certain, and it was there was no doubt the timing was right, not a second before, not a second after. Manhattan was shining through the window, but no light in the city was as captivating as Marisol was to him.

 

Dating Marisol that summer hadn’t been easy, she was sometimes too intense, and he felt embarrassed every time he had to tell her to slow down. His father had raised him up with so many rules, laws that in his mind formed the book of ‘The Perfect Man’. He knew his dad had a reason to have had him learn to be a gentleman, a flawless young man. Marcus Windflowers had been left behind and had always wondered if, had he been perfect, he could’ve made his goddess stay. Marisol usually thought them old-fashioned or hilarious, and he was lost and confused.

He needed time to think about what he was ready to do and what he wasn’t. Marisol was patient though, and whenever he stepped back, she didn’t push him. She talked him into it little by little, until he felt comfortable with the idea. Of course, the practical part was no problem, he was a hormonal eighteen year old after all. The theory was what complicated him.

Dating Marisol out of camp was even more difficult, he couldn’t see her every day, and he missed her. He knew he was going to long for her presence, but it turned out to be more than he’d imagined. He wasn’t conscious of how much he liked Marisol until he opened the door to his tiny apartment in Brooklyn and felt loneliness creep over him. It had never hit him this hard before. He’d opened the windows, cleaned up a bit and put his stuff on its right place, very neatly. He’d gone to a payphone afterwards, called his dad to let him know he was home.

Martin used to live and was born in New Fairfield, Connecticut. His father ran a flower shop and, if you ask Martin, he thinks that’s why his mother turned out to be the agriculture goddess. He had a nice childhood, right up until he became eight and a monster almost killed him. Lucky for Martin, his satyr found him right then and took him to Camp Half-Blood in time. Martin and his father thought it better for Martin to stay close to camp, you know, just in case. So Martin, who’d always been a remarkable student even though his ADHD, applied to a scholarship at one of New York’s best private schools... and he got in. His life became a statement: school during the year, Christmas day with his father, more school for what was left of the school year and camp in summer. A couple monsters in between but nothing truly serious.

Now he had something out of the equation: Marisol in Queens, being close, but not close enough. And missing her was exactly what led them into their first fight. Marisol called him as usual, which was more or less every other day, to talk and for her to make fun of him for being studying every time she called. They didn’t have mobiles, more like some kind of advanced walkie-talkies Marisol’s dad had been working on. Like mobiles for young demigods. He had made real mobiles for demigods, but Marisol liked her life better without one. On one of these so-called phone calls, Marisol told him how she’d bought herself a motorbike with her savings from a thousand part-time jobs. She then began talking about the engines, how many cylinders it had and how beautiful the pistons were, by which point Martin felt as if she’d begun to talk in Korean.

“So, I was thinking, I can pick you up after school tomorrow and give you a ride.” He could almost feel her grin when she’d said so. “What time do you get out?”

“A half past three.” He said before he could stop himself, toying with the idea of seeing her the next day.

“Nice! I have to get dinner ready, but I’ll see you tomorrow, pretty boy.”

“See you, Aster.”

“Bye!” And she hung up. That’s when Martin realised his two mistakes. First, he’d written at the end of his equation _x_ was equal to five and _y_ was equal to seven, so _x_ plus _y_ was a half past three (not to mention an absent-minded sketch of a chocolate cosmos on the copybook’s margin). Second, he’d said it was okay for Marisol to pick him up after school, which was actually not okay because some girls at his school were super mean. They’d already been rude to enough of his no-longer-friends, and he didn’t want them picking on his girlfriend. Then again, he’d already agreed, and there was no way for Marisol to change her mind about it now. _Dammit_ , he thought.

 

Next day at school, Martin was quite distracted the whole morning. Even some teachers were surprised by Martin’s sudden inability to stay still, or to pay attention for that matter. To him, the only thing that mattered was the second the clock stroke a half past three. It was both good and bad the time went slow. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he also was expecting to see her, the anxiousness making a mess with him and his, until then, controlled ADHD. Gardening had been a good therapy for staying still and calm, but maybe it wasn’t enough when you had to shape yourself up to Marisol’s ways.

Marisol, on the other hand, was all morning at school busy with classes she only understood until a certain point and then she simply ignored. She and her tiny group of friends wandered around the school in between classes, and found a nice place to hide as they skipped chemistry class, behind the gym’s bleachers. She took off quickly even though she had a couple classes left. She would have to attend detention afterwards, but it was worth it. She didn’t truly care about it, she spent more time in the detention room than she spent in class, and she was very familiar with the people in there. Marisol wasn’t a bad girl, but she couldn’t care less about school. She knew what she wanted to do with her life: work at his dad’s garage until she had enough money to get a great road trip. She’d get on the road until she ran out of money, and had to settle down somewhere; or until some monster caught her by surprise and killed her. She still didn’t know how to fit Martin in that whole deal, but it didn’t matter yet. She would worry about it when it was the time to.

She parked her bike in front of Martin’s school and waited sitting on it, the engine purring softly. Marisol had that kind of beauty which is so natural people has trouble in admitting it aloud, because they feel uglier if they do. Her hair was tied up in a pony tail, falling in a cascade of soft and big curls which from the distance looked more wavy than curly. Her bronze skin wasn’t sunburnt (due to Calypso’s love for sunscreen) which gave it that soft tanned tone, as if perfectly sunkissed. She was short but, in relation to her body, her legs were long; and her tiny waist and fit complexion made her look like a model. Marisol enjoyed the use of Chapstick, but she neglected insistently makeup. Her dark shone as beautiful gemstones and were the centre of her delicate face, which features would have given her a soft air of elegance and perfection, had she been a famous actress; but gave her a childish elfish look instead. She knew she was fairly attractive, and took that to her advantage to get discounts or to let guys’ guard down as she took the last dessert in the school’s cafeteria.

She gazed at her transparent polished nails, making sure there was no dirt hidden between them and her skin. She then spotted Martin, wearing a school uniform, which only made him look fitter and more handsome. The uniform consisted of a white shirt, khaki pants, a green jacket and a green tie. _Oh, I like ties. And green. Green suits him perfectly_ , Marisol thought. She was eating Martin with her eyes, but he couldn’t feel flustered about it, because his eyes were on an open textbook on his hands, as he explained something to a guy who looked tiny next to Martin but, then again, Martin was really tall. Her ragged denim high-waisted shorts were not very different from the ones she used at camp, and her army vest jacket was the same one she used at camp too. Her white shirt was the only difference, with a wider neckline, falling loosely, its stamp reading ‘Shit happens. You, for example’ which was very rude but Marisol didn’t truly care for being polite. There were more important things to life than good manners. Before Martin could spot his girlfriend, some of his school’s female students did. They got closer subtly, and by the time Marisol noticed, she was surrounded by them.

“Look what we’ve got here! One of our janitor’s daughters, how charming!” A tastelessly skinny blonde girl said. Marisol sighed. So she would have to put up with _these_ kinds of girls.

“I’m sorry darling, you must be mistaken, my dad doesn’t clean schools for misshapen dicks like you.” Marisol bit back. A ginger with straight hair and cruel greyish blue eyes stepped up front.

“Girls, give her a break, she’s probably lost. _HABLO ESPAÑOL, TÚ PERDIDA, MÉXICO POR AHÍ **[2]**_.” She said, being very loud and modulating in an exaggerated way, pointing behind Marisol, as if she were talking to someone really stupid.

“I can speak English, you don’t need to speak Spanish and embarrass yourself talking as if you were Tarzan. Also, you discriminating vain beetle-headed barnacle, Mexico is the other way.” Marisol liked to read secretly, and was a big fan of Shakespeare. It had taken her a while, but she’d been able to make herself know quite a few Shakespearean insults. She was always waiting for the opportunity to use them with the right people. She was very sure these rich girls wouldn’t be able to recognise Shakespeare not even if he hit them himself.

“How dare you insult us in the ways of the most amazing writer of all times!” Said the only intelligent one, because the rest of them seemed just insulted. She was a brunette with dazzling light green eyes. “May I know why are you really here? Because if you don’t really have a reason, I’ll call security.”

“Gee, I wonder how terrible that could be.” Marisol said sarcastically. “I came to pick up my boyfriend. I don’t particularly enjoy the presence of the ones like you.” She admitted. All of the girls laughed at once, creepily synchronised.

“And who would that be?” The blonde one asked. “One of our janitors?” _Seriously_ , Marisol thought, _she must get another thing to mess with besides janitors. Maybe she has a thing with one of them, and that’s why she’s so obsessed about them_.

“No.” Marisol rolled her eyes, tired. “That one” she said, pointing to Martin who, sadly for her, looked very concentrated on his textbook and his explaining.

“Martin Windflowers?” The ginger one exclaimed. “No way. Martin has never ever dated any of us. Why would he date _you_?” Marisol was about to say ‘Uh, well because I’ve got brains and you don’t’ but she made eye contact with Martin and gave him a ‘finally, thank the gods’ look. Martin went down the few front steps the school had and walked up to Marisol, happy to see her again, troubled by the circumstances. The brunette put an arm around Martin’s shoulders in a manner Marisol found _way_ too friendly.

“Martin, thank goodness. Be a dear and tell this girl she’s lost and she can go back to whichever pitiful neighbourhood she came from.” _Her wicked tongue should grow large and strangle her to death_ , Marisol couldn’t help to wish.

“I would do so, Helen, but she isn’t lost. I asked her to pick me up and, were she lost, I wouldn’t be able to get home. Thanks for entertaining her until I came by.” He said.

“Very well, so she’s your driver, who cares, but you should let her know she shouldn’t be spreading lies around about how she’s your girlfriend and such.” Ginger girl tried to strike.

“Thing is she _is_ my girlfriend. And I’d like to remind you I can’t afford a driver, unlike you all.” Martin’s calm ways would’ve exasperated Marisol except for the fact he was standing up for her without being unkind or rude, which was as complicated as it sounded and it made him way hotter to Marisol’s eyes.

“I don’t believe you. Kiss her.” The blonde one insisted. Marisol frowned, knowing Martin was not a good one with public expressions of love, even less if forced, and would probably deny her subtly by backing down now, which hurt her a bit. But he put a hand on her shoulder and kissed briefly, yet gently, making her blush. He could sometimes surprise her. Martin thought that would be enough for them to leave Marisol alone and for Marisol to decide never to pick him up again; but the brunette girl, Helen, stood up front once more and made things complicated.

“I can kiss anyone like that without us having a relationship. I need a real kiss to convince myself that girl is really your girlfriend.” All of them knew what a ‘real’ kiss meant for Helen. Silence fell among them and the air turned thick with tension. Martin had never been up to French kissing, and Marisol had decided not to push him. He was lovely as innocent and not ready as he was, and she did not want to force him into anything. She tried to go at his pace. But if he didn’t kiss her right then, he would be denying her, after going this far. So she thought he would do it, that he would really give into it, but she was disappointed.

“I think we should go, Aster.” Martin said, putting his helmet on. Helen and her friends smiled triumphant.

“What?” Marisol blinked, bewildered.

“Just drive.” He pleaded, and her first instinct was to obey him, since he’d asked with puppy eyes, but just as the engine roared and they drove them a few metres, Marisol went back to her senses and stopped the motorcycle.

“Get off.” She told him. He looked stunned. “Get off, I said.”

“Aster?”

“I offered a ride to my boyfriend. I must have mistaken you for him, get off.” She knew she was being unfair, but she felt terribly embarrassed and betrayed by the way Martin had refused to French kiss her, even if it was to shut up some really annoying girls, just because he wasn’t ready. The analogy was a bit extreme, but if she was to die of some fairy tale disease which had only one cure: a true love French kiss... would he let her die just because he did not feel up to it? It really annoyed her. Martin hesitated, but she glared at him, and a second later, he got off the motorbike and she drove away. Martin cursed and glared at his classmates, who smiled apologetically, although they didn’t truly mean it.

After Martin had gone back to check his locker (to see if he could find some coins to take the subway) he went home, trying to decide whether he should feel sorry or angry. Of course, Martin being Martin and all of that, he chose to feel sorry, and called Marisol a hundred times. He would’ve left a message, but you can’t leave messages on adapted walkie-talkies. He’d even called Marisol’s home, but nothing. He just had to stand Sebastián telling him how he’d promised to be a good boyfriend and how he shouldn’t make Marisol upset, like if Martin hadn’t already known that. After two minutes of being told off, the payphone told Martin his time was up, and he was happy to hang up. _Shouldn’t he be at uni?_ Martin thought, slightly annoyed. He was about to go back home, when he thought it better and called once again at Marisol’s house. He first heard a little quarrelling about who should answer the phone, and finally, a feminine voice answered. It sounded a lot like Marisol’s, and Martin got a bit confused.

“Aster?” He asked, hopeful.

“I’m not sure about it, but as far as I know there’s no one in this apartment with that name.” The voice answered. He slapped himself mentally, _of course_.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Valdez, this is Martin. I was hoping I could talk to Marisol, is she around there?” He said, being very careful of his words.

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry Martin, but my daughter told me she doesn’t want to talk to any Martins. You sure your name is Martin? Maybe she’ll talk to someone else...” Martin blinked, surprised. He never thought he would be on Marisol’s mum good side, considering the only time they’d seen each other, he kissed her daughter, causing her husband to get out of control.

“In that case, I guess my name is... Evan? Evan her best friend?” Calypso laughed on the phone. Her laugh was charming and echoed in the room she was in.

“Very well, Evan, my daughter’s _best friend_. I’ll see if she wants to answer you.” He heard as she walked away from the phone a couple steps. “Maddie, honey, Evan’s on the phone, he says he wants to talk to you.” He heard some yelling and paces back to the phone. “I’m sorry, I could not fool my daughter for you, Martin. She told me to tell you _Evan’s a year rounder, nice try, Windflowers_.” Calypso’s mimic of Marisol’s voice was almost perfect, and Martin found it hard to believe she was her mother rather than her big sister. Martin let go of a disappointed ‘oh’ and was about to say thanks and hung up when Calypso’s voice interrupted him. “I’ll tell you what, Evan, my daughter’s best friend. Where do you live?” Martin was surprised by the question, but he answered anyways.

“Brooklyn, ma’am.”

“So, I’ll meet you at a really nice café I know in Brooklyn. I invite, don’t worry about it. I know about low budgets, and how they have to stretch themselves in order to pay for girlfriends. What do you say? Meet me at _Camomile_ in about, uh, half an hour? And I’ll tell you how to put an end to this fight you’ve got with my daughter. Deal?” Martin was about to say something about Marisol’s mum choice to meet, but she didn’t let him. “I’ll see you there.” She said, showing she clearly wasn’t giving him a real choice.

“See you, Mrs. Valdez.” And she hung up. Martin was beginning to get an idea to why Mr. Valdez was helpless when his wife held him by the braces and told him to behave. There was no going against her.

 

Since Calypso had spoken the name of the café, Martin’d had a dreadful feeling about it, like he wasn’t supposed to go anywhere close there, but there was nothing to worry about. It was one of those healthy cafés, where they only sell tea and infusions. What made him a bit panicky was the woman in the shop’s counter, who looked terribly uh, godly. Also, it was weird to plan private meetings with your daughter’s boyfriend, no matter what kind of mother you were. Maybe she just wanted to check on him, make sure Marisol was dating a decent guy. He could almost hear his father, talking to him as if life were a fairy tale, and there was some magical secret to it. _A decent man has no way to lose what he loves the most_.

As the minutes went by, he began to think he’d understood the name wrong and maybe the place was another one. Right then a very nice, yet very unusual, motorcycle parked on the opposite side of the street. As Calypso Valdez took her helmet off, Martin couldn’t help to think the moment should’ve happened in slow motion, with dramatic background music, because Marisol’s mother looked like an actress making a commercial for a hair product company, or for a motorcycle company, or any company at all. She was a couple centimetres shorter than her daughter, he could notice, but she obviously didn’t mind as she was wearing slip-on sneakers. They were the exact same colour as her pale red loose blouse. She wore high-waisted jeans, just like Marisol usually wore high-waisted denim shorts. Martin thought Marisol wore the same kind of jeans when weather did not allow shorts. Marisol’s mum stood in front of him and smiled a five million dollars smile. Her hairstyle was rather casual, the hair braided on one side, perfectly imperfect due to the easiness with which it fell. It had a beautiful cinnamon colour, glossy and soft-looking.

“Let’s go in, shall we?” Martin hesitated.

“Who’s in there?” He had to ask.

“It’s just Iris. We’ve been chatting lately, she’s nice. Her business was going broke, so I told her she could put a tea shop here. She’s quite a hit.” Calypso pushed him in, and he was surprised by a warm-looking café. It only sold free-everything eatable stuff but it had a really nice ambience. “This way.” She announced, and they walked past some back doors. Martin saw they were now in what looked like a nice terrace inside a greenhouse. He found it quite charming.

“Where are we exactly?” He asked, as he seated at one of the tables, absent-mindedly, taking in the plants in the place.

“I’m sorry I forced you in like that.” Calypso sighed as she sat in front of him, taking off her sunglasses, letting them rest on the table, a full metal structure painted white, with a glass surface. “The place is supposed to be secret to most people. It was a peace-offering from the gods. I took the place, yet not the peace offering. I keep the tea shop outside for Iris, but if anyone tries to enter the greenhouse, they simply walk back outside, with the idea they’d had a great tea time.” She gave him an apologetic look and Martin was speechless to notice, under better illumination, Mrs. Valdez had her daughter’s exact same eyes. Or vice versa, to be more precise. “I introduce myself properly now. I’m Calypso Valdez, Marisol’s mother. It’s really nice to finally meet you, Martin.” To this, Martin sat upright, remembering he had a good impression to make, after all. Now they were closer, he could notice she was wearing no makeup at all, which made her undoubtedly more beautiful, in the way you can see someone’s beauty is natural and not plastic. She also seemed really young, which was quite odd, considering Marisol was sixteen and she didn’t look older than twenty three.

“I’m Martin Windflowers, please to meet you, ma’am.” Calypso smiled tenderly, and looked around, until a young lady came around.

“Jenny, would you mind doing some orange juice?” She asked the young dryad politely.

“As you wish, Miss Calypso.” The dryad grinned sweetly. “Anything else?”

“Yes, I’d like some of the scones my husband baked...” Jenny pointed in some direction, “yes; the other day. And please, I’m for a long while now Mrs., no longer Miss. Thank you.” The dryad bowed ceremonially and walked away. Martin seemed concerned for the servant dryad. “Oh, don’t worry, she’s bounded to one of the trees in the greenhouse. She serves because she’s happy to and otherwise gets bored. She keeps calling me Miss Calypso. Probably the gods told her to, in order to annoy me.” Martin nodded.

“Do you mind if I ask why would the gods want to annoy you, Mrs. Valdez?”

“Why, of course not. They apologised first for holding me as a prisoner for various centuries just for being a daughter to a titan, I know, unfair. They’re annoyed because I made it out of Ogygia and married and had children.” Martin was quite surprised.

“Oh.” Martin thought for a second. “Weren’t you immortal?”

“Yes, I still am.” There was sadness lingering in her gaze, and Martin realised it had been thanks to his reminder. Okay _, awkward, time to change the subject_.

“So, you were telling me how could I make things right Marisol.” Calypso’s eyes widened and then she grinned. Jenny came with the juice then, and poured a glass for each one of them. Then left a plate with what the scones on it. Martin picked up one and was surprised to verify they had a really nice taste. _Huh, Marisol’s dad can really cook_.

“Never forgot. You may or may not know it, but Marisol’s had a long history of rather bad boyfriends. That’s why her brother and her father are so overprotective of her. I’m not going to say this has been good or bad, but I’d rather much like to see my daughter with a guy who makes her happy. I don’t like to judge people too quickly, but one thing is for sure: Marisol has never been with a guy for longer than an hour before he starts causing her trouble, making her unhappy. That, until she came back this summer.” She gave Martin an inquisitive look and he blushed. She didn’t mean Marisol was happy because of him, did she?

“What does this have to do with me, exactly?” Martin asked, and Calypso chuckled.

“You really _are_ a cute boy.” She recognised. “Marisol has been happy all the time now she’s dating you. And you might think I’m lying to you, but the only reason Sebastián gave you a sermon today on the phone instead of hunting you down, is because he thinks you might be a good thing for her.”

“What was he doing home, exactly?” He couldn’t help to ask.

“Picking up some stuff. He’s moved to New Rome, you know. He’s going to study at uni there. His girlfriend was super happy. Hazel had to recur to Piper to make Frank calm down, it was actually really funny...” she stopped herself when she saw Martin’s bewildered expression. “Anyways. I think Marisol already knows you’re probably what she wants and what makes her happy. She probably hasn’t processed the fact yet. I believe you have to show her a bit of what she’s already put up with, and make her realise she is way better off now with nice guys.” Martin waited, expectant of the magic trick, but it didn’t come to him. The scone was rather crunchy, and he liked the soft flavour it had.

“So, summing up, what do I do exactly?” He insisted. She grinned almost mockingly, clearly containing herself due to the fact she was someone’s mother in that situation.

“I think you ought to figure that out on your own. I wouldn’t think it wise nor fair to give you all the answers.” She took a sip of her juice. “In the end... nobody has them all. Love is making things work even with unanswered questions and unasked answers.” Martin saw then something in her eyes that made him shiver, subtly scared. It was as if her eyes had something else in them, something slightly evil, that end to her gaze which suggested immortality had taught her love was more than a force or something. It was as if immortality had made her dull and eternally heartbroken. She was Calypso, the cursed one, after all. He’d heard rumours, and knew the gods hadn’t been specially merciful or charming to her. It occurred to him that now he was safe with Sebastián and, by what he’d understood, with Marisol’s dad, if he happened to make the wrong choice, the one to finish him would be the woman with gorgeous looks sitting in front of him. He swallowed.

“Ah... alright.” But then what he might’ve mistaken for rage and threat changed into a sadness which drifted softly towards calm and happiness.

“Shoot. I’m sorry, son. I got lost in thought. Anyways, as I was saying, try your best. Surprise her by what you’re capable of.” She ate half a scone without spilling any crumbs at all. Was that even humanly possible?

“Thanks. Mrs. Valdez, do you take care of this greenhouse?” Calypso winced.

“I’m afraid not. I have two other gardens to take care of and I’m always short on time to take care of this one. No, Jenny takes care of the garden.”

“Would you mind if I came here from time to time? It’s just that you have some really rare species in here, and I’d love to take care of them and study them and—” his eyes glowed with excitement and Calypso lifted an eyebrow.

“A child of Demeter, I see. Should’ve guessed it by the awed look in your face when we walked in, but I thought it was just the surprise of walking into an unexpected place.” She stood up abruptly, and so did Martin. She looked up to him once more, and pouted. It was, again, strange having a mother look up to him and, even stranger, having her pout. “Tell me, how tall are you?” She asked, narrowing her eyes. Martin chuckled, amused by her question.

“I’m six feet five inches tall, ma’am.” He admitted.

“Do you know it in centimetres? I’m bad with inches and such.” Of course she was. She was Greek. The only ones who used weird measurement values were the Americans.

“I’m one metre ninety six centimetres.”

“Wow, that’s like... a lot. My poor Maddie must feel like a garden gnome next to you. I give you a piece of advice. If you ever come over to our place, or you ever happen to run into my husband, try to shrink a bit.”

“Why?”

“He’s developed a couple height issues lately. Mainly due to family friends.” She sighed. “I’d hate having to hide another corpse. Anyways, nice talking to you, Martin. Good luck.” She picked up her sunglasses and walked out the greenhouse. Martin hesitated for a while. Wait. Another corpse? Martin got out the café and walked back to his place, using the time it took him to get home to think about how he could prove his girlfriend he was worthy.

 

Marisol woke up lazily, still moody over her fight with Martin. She shouldn’t have gotten so mad at him, but she felt so utterly betrayed, she just couldn’t get a hold of her feelings at all. She dressed up and went to school, finding no appeal to it, and being angry at the universe. Her father had made her pancakes that morning, but even that couldn’t cheer her up. Nor could the fight Leo and Calypso had over who should do breakfast pancakes. Marisol couldn’t exactly remember the time her mother had almost blown up the kitchen trying to do pancakes but, just in case it was true, she always backed up Leo in the decision only he should cook pancakes. Calypso was an outstanding cook... whenever she didn’t have to use sugar.

Also, whenever her parents fought like that, like they could make up a second after and everything would be alright, Marisol felt a little blue. She’d figured a long while ago that since Calypso was immortal, her dad would age and her mum wouldn’t, and Marisol had this odd feeling... her mother wouldn’t stay to watch the man she loved age. She wouldn’t stay to watch him grow old and weaker and to hold his hand when he exhaled for the last time. And she felt sad, and troubled, because Leo was Marisol’s favourite person in the whole world, and knowing her dad’s heart was going to be broken broke her heart as well.

She also felt sad because home felt emptier now without Sebastián, even though she’d always complained about what a burden he was. It had been just a couple weeks and she already missed him. Just as everybody home, her mother still cooking lunch for four and her father still checking if Sebastián had gone to sleep. Only he wasn’t there. She spent the morning between history and maths, faking to read a motorcycle magazine as she read The Amber Spyglass and screamed helplessly in her mind _Don’t do it, Lyra!_ She’d already read all of Shakespeare’s novels and plays for fifteenth time, and she chose to take a little break. She was definitely going to read them over and over for forever. She had lunch and then she spent the last few hours of school trying not to die of boredom. Marisol had her tiny group of friends, alright, but today was one of the days she wished she had Kristin and Evan. They knew who she truly was, and she didn’t have to worry around them. Living under pretence was extremely tiring, and her friends already knew to leave her alone when she happened to have a bad day. She was walking out of the school, when one of her friends, a tall curly black haired and freckled girl, Sammy, came up to her.

“Marisol, I know you’re in one of your no-people days. But who’s the guy leaning onto your motorcycle?” She said, giggling. Marisol rolled her eyes, knowing whoever it was, Sammy was faking because she was so, very homosexual. _You big fat liar_ , Marisol thought kindly. She liked Sammy and they skipped physics together, so they were already past the no-insults phase.

Marisol looked towards where her motorbike was parked, confused, and her mouth fell slightly open. His hair was up in a rather punk way, his black shirt read ‘Sex Pistols’ and his black jacket had spikes over the shoulders. His jeans were ragged, his combat boots also spiky. She walked hypnotised, the dreadful magnet in her body dragging her unequivocally towards the guy leaning slightly against her motorcycle. Her neurones melted, and though her heart said ‘Run!’ her mind drove her blindly until she was in front of him.

Here’s a small guide to Marisol and bad boys. The goal: heartbreak. The purpose: getting to know heartbreak. The background: she had an immortal mother who could not take the heartbreak of seeing his only love fade away. And she, at an unconscious level, made heartbreak her own. _Who can offer better heartbreak than a bad boy?_ She thought first, before Martin. She needed to make heartbreak her own, mix it with her skin, and breathe into the desperate and lonely sensation of having lost someone; because heartbreak is produced by lost. Her dad would lose the love of his life, and she would be there. _It’s okay dad, broken hearts mend_. Only she knew just about bad boy heartbreak and she didn’t know what it was to lose the love of your life. Some broken hearts never mend.

She recognised the amber eyes, and she felt herself hopelessly trapped. Martin smiled cockily and leaned enough to be close to her lips without touching them. As for him, the way Marisol had reacted filled him with guilt. She almost dropped everything and went running to him, and he could read the pain in her eyes. The hurt gaze she had let him knew Marisol’d been played by many bad boys, and her heart was shattered and resigned to be broken forever. She was like a drug addict, and it pained him to look at her like that. She had to know heartbreak, but one time would’ve been enough. _Pain is my drug_ , she told Kristin once, and she’d slapped her and told her never to say the same thing again. Marisol had been reforming herself ever since. She’d tried to avoid bad boys, but they seemed to be able to find her even if she didn’t want to be found.

He almost had to drop the act. Then again, this was for her to realise she was better off with a good guy. He only hoped he didn’t make her think he was also a bad boy for fooling her like that. Marisol leaned forward, like in trance, trying to catch his lips, but he withdrew, frowning.

“You’re late” he told her, pulling teasingly the zipper of her army vest jacket. Marisol blushed brightly and lowered her eyes. “What took you so long?”

“School. But I promise next time I’ll skip school, if that’s what you want.” Martin flinched in his mind, this was hurting him deeply. He pulled out a cigarette. Marisol’s eyes widened and looked as if she might stop him, but she didn’t.

“Fire” he demanded, pulling up one of her hands. She faltered.

“But people is watching. They’ll think I’m a freak.” Marisol’d said so, but he could read in her eyes that if he insisted, she would do as he said without a complaint. It scared him how scarred she was.

“Now they don’t” he said, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her around; Marisol let him, like a lifeless puppet. She lifted her hand and lit up the cigarette. Martin smiled sideways and took the cigarette in his lips. Right then, he choked on the smoke in such an uncool way Marisol was off the spell cast on her by his bad boy looks, grabbed the cigarette and threw it at the pavement, where she stepped on it and pulverised it.

“Martín?” She asked, bewildered. Her look was accusing as if saying ‘You played me’. Martin held up both his hands.

“I’m really—” he began to apologise. But she cracked up staring back and forth from him to his clothes. Martin was super confused, so he recurred to his back-up plan. He searched in his pocket and took out a light red aster flower. “I’m sorry, Aster. I want to promise I am going to be good for you, right for you, but right now, all I’m is a huge jerk.” He sighed. Marisol patted his shoulder and he leaned instinctively, and answered her kiss naturally, happy to taste her lips once more. His hand and his punk glove caressing her cheek gently.

“You are not a jerk. Although this new you could be. I like you better as my Martín, not this one.” She realised she could not stay mad at him, choking on cigarettes to impress her. Giving her flowers to apologise. No guy had ever been as attentive with her as Martin. “Promise me though, you’re never going to try smoking again, okay?” She said, playing with his zipper, going back to being more and more like herself.

“I promise.” He smiled. “And about what happened yesterday, I’m working it on it, Aster, I truly am. I can be anything you want me to be for you. Just... give me some ti—” He was brushing her hair delicately, and Marisol shushed him.

“It’s okay Martin. I get it. You want me to choose. And I choose the not-ready, prudent, sweet, pretty boy who really cares about me.” She said, jumping to hang from his neck. Martin sighed as he rolled his eyes at her. He held her by her waist and sat her on her motorcycle.

“I must really care if I come back for you to do these things to me.” He admitted, miserably. Then he looked down at himself. “I should really take this clothes off.” Marisol grinned.

“I can help you with that if you want me to.” She teased. Martin blushed.

“Stop it! Why do you enjoy teasing me so much?” He couldn’t help to ask.

“Because you look very cute.” Her smile was wide, her eyes shone brightly and Calypso’s voice spoke in Martin’s mind. _You make her very happy_.

“Not a knockout now I’m myself, huh?” He thought aloud.

“Oh, you’re a knockout alright. But I prefer you without these clothes, I told you.” Her smirk was very suggestive and Martin turned bright red. “I _really_ do.” Martin had to count to ten and then let go of the air he’d been retaining.

“Okay, enough for today, smarty-pants. Now, could I get a ride from my girlfriend or I’ll have to go walking to my place?” Marisol arched an eyebrow, in her mother’s exact same manner.

“Walking?”

“I don’t have money with me. Not even a penny.” She looked at him quizzically. “I had my hopes up for my wonderful girl.” He smiled. She narrowed her eyes.

“I should still leave you here. But you are very good at flattering. Hum. Okay, I’ll drive you home, although—”

“What?” Martin asked.

“On one condition. I’ll go pick you up tomorrow. And you will get on my motorbike and we’ll drive away from all those nasty bitches you have for classmates. Okay?” Martin winced a bit at Marisol’s choice of words, but nodded.

“Okay.” Marisol smiled widely and he knew himself forgiven. There was not a bit of resentment left in Marisol towards him. Marisol sat properly on her bike and patted the seat behind her so Martin knew to sit on it. He found it quite pleasant to seat behind her and hug her not to fall off, the engine purring under them. Every time they were this close he could smell the scent of her shampoo, something like plum, sweet but slightly sour. He thought of plum blossoms and smiled. He could get used to having Marisol in his life, having forever a plum tree blooming around him.

 

They parked under his building and Martin was not ready to say goodbye yet, since they had been in a fight before this and he had been thinking all the time he might lose her just for his stupidity. Although he knew he might regret it, he took his helmet off and got off the motorcycle, looking thoughtfully at Marisol. She wasn’t wearing a helmet, even though he’d tried to put one on her every red light. So imprudent. He sighed, foreseeing how excited she’d be, and gave in to the dreamy expression he imagined. He handed Marisol the helmet.

“Wanna come in?” He asked. Marisol’s grin and starry eyes got wider by the second.

“Thought you would never ask.” She said, jumping off the motorcycle, taking her keys and making sure it was safely parked. She came next to him in a second and Martin chuckled. She was like a little girl sometimes, honestly.

[1] Spanish word for dad.

[2] I speak Spanish, you lost, Mexico that way.


	4. Watch your step

> “ _I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_
> 
> _in secret, between the shadow and the soul._ ” –Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets.

Martin’s flat was very neat and clean, and that didn’t surprise Marisol at all. What did surprise her (even though she should’ve expected it) was that every free shelf was full of either plants or books. They co-existed in harmony, textbooks, novels, poems and flowerpots all over the place. Her own mother would’ve said that was a sacrilege. _A garden is a garden, a house is a house_. Martin’s flat looked like freaking greenhouse. Those were the only things which existed in abundance, because the lack of stuff in the apartment was evident, unless Martin was a fan of minimalist style. There was a two-seat green sofa, a laptop on a coffee table in front of the sofa... and that was it. The laptop was clearly obsolete, but Martin probably didn’t have the money to renew it.

The kitchen was minuscule, and Marisol was stunned to see an oven, a countertop, a microwave and a refrigerator fit all in it. She opened the refrigerator and encountered a thousand vegetables and stuff. A couple packs of hamburgers were in the freezer and Marisol turned around to face his boyfriend, looking deeply offended.

“Are you going to tell me the only thing you eat every single day of your life is hamburgers and salad?” Martin, who had been expecting critics on anything but his eating habits, shrugged, not knowing what to say.

“I’m a terrible cook, and I barely have time or money for anything else.” He admitted.

“Holy Hephaestus, a child of Demeter who can only do hamburgers. May Hades spare him.” She exclaimed, dramatically. “I’m so making you a decent dinner.” She said, and before Martin could stop her, she was all over his kitchen, leaving a mess everywhere, staining all the kitchen he had so impeccably clean. Martin decided to go change while she was at it, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the urge of dragging her away and cleaning up the mess she’d created.

He was taking off his shirt when he felt that dreadful sensation of somebody staring at you. He turned towards the door, to catch Marisol’s elfish features, shining onyx eyes and delighted grin standing on the doorway. Martin’s stomach dropped to his feet.

“What are you doing here, Aster?” He asked, scandalised.

“Admiring the view.” She said, as if she had been staring at a sunset.

“Get out of my room, Valdez.” He walked towards her, and turned her around to push her out of there.

“Aw, don’t be cruel, couldn’t you stay ignorant of my presence a little longer? I’ve already seen you shirtless, you know. I was hoping I could see something else.” She teased. He kept pushing her until she was out.

“You said you’d make dinner, so go do that.” He said, and he shut the door, making sure to lock it this time. He sighed. She would be the end of him, seriously. He turned to his room, a closet on one wall, a small desk, and a shelf full of more books and plants. A lamp stood on his night table, next to a pair of glasses he wore only at night. His bed was perfectly done, next to the wide window that brought should bring light in, but half of it was interrupted by a black-out curtain, due to the need of shade of the plants in his room. After he changed, he lied on his bed for a couple minutes, staring at the empty, white ceiling. What should he do with Marisol? He was starting to think he might like her more than he had planned to, more than he ever expected to. Yet she represented many things he was still not sure of, and as time went by, he would have to make up his mind the sooner or later. Because just as she had proved the day before, Marisol wasn’t going to wait forever for him to decide whether he was in or out. He got up and prayed to be up to whatever she needed from him, because one thing was sure for him: he did not want to lose her.

He opened the door, and realised it was no longer locked. He opened it, panicky, but Marisol was in the kitchen, serving dinner. She looked quite nice in such a domestic ambience. He imagined her looking so every day for him, for the first time ever, and felt embarrassed at the thought. He had never pictured her still around him in such a long term, yet now he had. He went to where she was and stood awkwardly in the kitchen, telling himself every five seconds to ignore the mess. Marisol, on the other hand, was radiant and looked very proud of herself. Martin stared, and was a bit ashamed when she caught him doing so.

“What are you looking at, Martín?” She smirked sideways, and he knew she’d done it.

“Did you unlock my door?” Marisol rolled her eyes.

“Now, would I ever do so?” She chuckled. “I might have. I might have only a quarter of godly blood, but there’s no one who’s related to Hephaestus and can’t pick a lock.” She saw Martin’s alarmed expression and laughed louder. “Don’t worry. I didn’t spy on you, I promise. I decided to respect your privacy, but now you know a locked door won’t keep me out. You should beware next time.”

“Noted.” Marisol’s veggie stew was delicious and, even though Martin wasn’t a stew fan, he had to admit she was the best cook he had ever met. She made even stew taste marvellous. When Marisol left, his apartment went back to being quiet and lonely and it weighted him like when he had came back from Camp Half-Blood by the end of the summer. How long had it been since he was back? A month? Two months? He checked a calendar. Just two weeks. _The what_. Time went so slow whenever he was alone, and so fast whenever Marisol was laughing at him and hanging from his neck. How long have they been dating? Two, three, four... weeks. A month? _Holy Demeter!_ He thought as he checked dates. _The thirtieth of July. And today was the twenty ninth of August. Uh-oh_. He went downstairs and made a couple calls. Then he went back upstairs and checked every single one of his plants, hoping to find the perfect one. Daffodils? Roses? Carnations? Madonna lilies? Gerbera daisies? Tulips. Yellow ones, variegated ones.

As any other Demeter child, Martin knew what flowers meant. Some of them were more compromising than other ones, and he felt it as some sort of crime to gift flowers you don’t mean. He gazed at the cream coloured tulips he had in his apartment. _Soon_ , he thought. _Maybe_.

 

 

Marisol parked in front of Martin’s high school and waited patiently. Nervous. She knew she shouldn’t be expecting anything, since a month was nothing special, and none of her previous boyfriends had either lasted that long or done a thing to celebrate. They had all let her down one way or another. But she had her hopes up for Martin, since he’d proved himself different. _How_ different... well, she was about to find out. She had found herself putting on lip gloss that morning; she had even painted her nails light green. She felt very silly, hoping those things would do for Martin to realise it was a day which was supposed to be special. She’d even had to ask to pick him up as a condition for driving him home. And her day was definitely not going to pick up in the next few minutes because the stupid girls from the day before were walking towards her.

“I think she’s downright dumb.” The brunette, Helen, stated. “I have to admit I’m impressed you came back after what happened yesterday, but I’m telling you, Mexican scum, I’ll make sure you don’t feel comfortable coming back ever again.” Marisol rolled her eyes and was about to answer, when Martin showed up with a handful of flowers.

Marisol felt as if she might cry. She could still remember him the day before, and how he’d activated her inner magnetism to bad boys, making her remember how she never wanted to feel again. Now, instead, he was smiling to her, looking so incredibly hot in his private school uniform, holding a tulip bouquet. She was really going to cry, but Marisol Valdez was over all kinds of romantic stuff, so she couldn’t. She wanted to cry, though. She got off her motorbike ignoring for completely the girls who’d been messing with her a couple seconds before.

“You remembered!” She exclaimed, as she jumped over him, Martin catching her midair by the waist, before she got to hang herself from his neck. Seriously, just one more time she did so and he would have a sprained neck.

“Of course I did.” He chuckled as she kissed his cheek repeatedly. “I promised to be a proper boyfriend.” Marisol was put back on the floor delicately and was offered the bouquet.

“They are beautiful.” She said, and the tenderness in her expression was so pure, Martin was overwhelmed. After all the teasing, flirting and suggestive expressions and looks, he had deleted the possibility of her being capable of such an innocent face. Just her being very glad over a bouquet. He leaned and caught her by surprise, which won him a tiny high-pitched cry from her when his lips found hers. She smiled against his lips, and Martin got apart and tried to get rid of his doubts.

“Aster... do I make you happy?” He blurted out and Marisol kissed him on one of his eyelids, so softly, Martin was stunned by the kiss’s delicacy.

“Why, of course you do, silly. You make me happier than anyone before you. You are the only one who has made me happy without making me feel awful at the same time, you amazing flower nerd.” If Marisol had known those were the magic words, she would’ve said them a long while ago. Martin kissed her, ever so gently, but he deepened the kiss little by little, until he tipped his tongue shyly against Marisol’s lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she let him in, taking the lead so they could find an easy rhythm, and Marisol discovered Martin was sweet even while French kissing. The feeling it gave her was so ineffable she could do nothing except to kiss him back and play with the hairs on his nape. Martin finished the kiss softly and perfectly, giving her a brief kiss on her nose before he got away.

“When my lip gloss said ‘irresistible’ on the tag, I never thought it worked so well.” Marisol said, lovestruck. Then she looked down and tossed the bouquet to Martin, alarmed. Martin’s eyes, which had been so happy and kind, shone with preoccupation.

“Is everything alright, Aster?” He asked, dreading he’d done something wrong. Marisol shook her head, but mouthed ‘my hands’ to Martin. He looked down, and saw the problem. He looked to the tulips’ stem and saw they were a bit burned. He nodded with an amused smile on his face and grabbed one of her hands, hiding it in his, curious.

“It feels weird... but nice. It’s like it should hurt, but it doesn’t. It actually tickles.” He noted, chuckling. Marisol bit back the need to kiss the air out of him. All guys had been scared, worried, or had at least hesitated, but Martin just took her hand in his like he was invincible. Maybe he was. He pulled her hand, dragging her towards the motorcycle, and Marisol laughed, relieved. “Come on, let’s go.” He hurried her. There’s no need to say that all of the girls who had been picking on Marisol were speechless. They got on, Martin wrapping himself around Marisol.

“To your place?” Marisol asked.

“Sort of.” He said. “Just drive, I’ll tell you the way.”

They parked in front of _Camomile_ and when Martin pointed the place they were heading to, Marisol thought he was kidding. She wasn’t even the kind of girl to go to a ‘natural’ café. Thinking better about it, neither was him. So which kind of joke was this one? Because she wasn’t able to see the punch line yet. “You know this is not a place for a first month celebration date, do you?” She said, slightly disappointed. She tried to not let it get to her. He’d remembered, at least, and that was a first. Martin just walked up to the door and held out a hand for her to grab. “If you wanted to go vegan, you could’ve just told me. If what you want is to go back to natural, I don’t mind taking all these unnatural clothes off for you.” He finally gave her the reaction she was looking for. His face reddened and he stammered.

“Could you just—” he sighed. “Trust me this once. Okay? I promise it ain’t what it seems.” She rolled her eyes at him and took his hand.

“Okay. But I just need to let you know you’re not allowed to look at any other naked or half naked girls. Or boys. You’ve never stated your opinion on boys, so maybe you’re bi and I simply don’t know it.” He turned to look at her, scandalised. He wasn’t homophobic, not at all. It was just that his girlfriend came up with such ideas, seriously.

“Valdez.” He warned her, his eyes wide. She giggled and he pushed the door open, dragging her in with him. They went straight past the café, and he pictured the greenhouse as he walked through the back door. As they walked into the greenhouse, Marisol went speechless. Christmas lights were decorating trees and plants surrounding a single table, where a candle flickered on. You couldn’t tell which time it was, just that is was dark. When Martin’d discovered he could change the time of the day in the greenhouse to his will, he couldn’t believe how perfect the place truly was. He kissed her cheek, tenderly.

“Happy first month, Marisol.” He said. “You make me the happiest, so I thought I should let you know.” Martin led his awestruck girlfriend towards the table and called on Jenny. She appeared a second after, with the meal. “I hope you’re hungry.” Marisol’s eyes widened.

“You cooked dinner?” She asked in disbelief. “But I thought you were a terrible cook!” It was obvious in her face the fact she felt betrayed just for having cooked the day before for him when he could’ve done it very well on his own, except he couldn’t.

“I am indeed a terrible cook.” He said. “So please excuse me if this kills your taste buds.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s—” Jenny left a very strange-looking pasta plate in front of her. It looked like it could grow legs and a conscience of its own any time. It was amazing in a very terrifying sort of way, because, _how_ could you cook something like that? “Possible.” She finished the thought. Marisol took a little courage and took a bit of pasta with her fork. The dish seemed poisonous but Marisol shut her eyes and told herself Martin had cooked it. The fork was already almost in her mouth when Martin stopped her.

“Okay, no need to do it.” He said, grabbing the fork midair. “I wouldn’t want to kill my girlfriend.” Marisol was bewildered.

“You were testing me?” She narrowed her eyes.

“I simply wanted to know if you would be willing to taste something horribly disgusting just because I had cooked it.” He apologised. “But you don’t have to.”

“The problem is now I’m curious.” Marisol explained, and she took the fork into her mouth before Martin could try and stop her again. The pasta was chewy and it was stuck altogether and what should be some salsa with cream, tasted only like ginger and pepper. It wasn’t poisonous or uneatable, but it was bad. She tried to keep a stern face, but she’d clearly failed, because Martin was arching an eyebrow.

“Told you” he said. Marisol stuck out her tongue to Martin, and he smiled, amused. “I did think of some eatable food, though.” They ate pizza, and Marisol didn’t know which pizzeria was it from, but it was a really good one. It took away completely the taste of ginger and pepper. Soon they were over, drinking orange juice and laughing over Helen and her friends’ incredulous faces when they were leaving.

“No, but seriously, even I was impressed.” Marisol admitted. “You’re so good it’s hard to believe you lost your first kiss barely a month ago. Even that one was quite good.” She narrowed her eyes, setting them on Martin’s flushed face. “I sometimes wonder whether you were telling the truth about it.” Martin felt plain insulted.

“You offend me, Marisol.” His expression was overdramatic and Marisol couldn’t help a laugh. “I am always honest with you.” He lifted his right hand, his thumb over his pinkie, and his other fingers up straight. “Scout’s honour.” He joked.

“Well, then, you won’t mind answering how did you find this place.” Martin snapped his tongue.

“You’re going to ruin the magic.”

“You told me you were hone—”

“Okay, okay, your mother showed it to me.”

“You talked to my mum?” Marisol was now the incredulous one.

“I called your house the day before yesterday, so maybe I could talk you out of being angry at me. But you wouldn’t pick up, so instead I had to deal first with Sebastian’s sermons over how I shouldn’t upset you, and how he was going to kill me if I didn’t fix it. Then I—”

“Please don’t tell me my dad picked up the phone.” She looked like she might die of how embarrassed she felt.

“No, your mother did. She was very nice.”

“Right, she plotted with you against me, trying to make me believe it was Evan on the phone. _That_ ,” she noted, “was very low.”

“She suggested so!” He excused himself. “Anyways, she told me we should talk and told me to meet her here, and before I could say anything she hung up. So I showed up and I wanted to disappear because— which kind of mother gives the impression of wanting to feed her daughter’s boyfriend a free-everything-worth-eating something?” He waited for Marisol to nod, then he continued. “But she wouldn’t take no for an answer and dragged me in here and told me I should fix the stuff between us because I was better than all the guys you’d dated before—”

“Oh, what a liar!” Marisol interrupted him, and he felt low. Wasn’t he the best? He had been told so many times it was a bit of a letdown getting to know it wasn’t like that. Marisol saw his disappointed gaze and rushed to correct herself. “I meant, what a liar because she always told me she was happy if I was happy, and that she had no opinion about any of the guys I’ve ever dated and now turns out she _does_ agree with dad and Seba.” Her exasperation was obvious and Martin felt a bit amused by it, mainly because she looked cute when exasperated.

“So after that I asked her if I could come here from time to time because, just look at it, this place is amazing.” She looked around at all the green in there and she thought Martin must’ve had a plantgasm when he first walked in, because he was a flower nerd and this place was full of flowers.

“Then show it to me.” She said, standing up, and Martin’s face lit up with excitement, like whenever he talked about anything green which lived by making photosynthesis. He gave her the full tour around, naming each flower and its precedence, its meaning. She would’ve kicked him silent, tired to listen, except for the fact he had heard her patiently (and at least faking interest) whenever she talked about motorcycles or forging, engines or circuits. Marisol was pretty sure he didn’t get a thing, but he still listened, because he was polite and politeness included listening.

“And these ones are stargazers, these ones are Madonna lilies, and these over here...” he pointed to ones who looked like stargazers, but weren’t. “These are Anastasia lilies.”

“Why are there so many lilies?” Marisol asked after the Anastasia lilies. There was a whole hallway in the greenhouse for moonlaces, though, but they hadn’t reached that part yet.

“Because there’s a huge variety o them.” He said. “Does your mother have a thing for moonlaces, though? There’s a whole hallway for them, and it’s her place after all. She told me the gods had given her this place as an apology.” Marisol shook her head, incredulous. _Why would mum get peace offerings from gods?_ Popped in her mind. Calypso hadn’t been very specific of her story. She’d only made it clear she was the daughter of the titan Atlas, and that after meeting Leo her life had changed, but, _how_? Then she thought about it, and remembered his dad every April, bringing a bouquet of moonlaces home every week of the month. She thought of the pictures of their wedding, in which her mother looked like a Greek goddess and her dad looked like an actor. A handsome one. A little anachronistic too, looking like a gentleman from World War II. She’d always thought they’d had some friend of theirs Photoshop it, because they both looked _too good_. Leo in that photo didn’t match the image Marisol had of him. Whenever she thought of his dad, he thought of a man full covered in motor oil, thin but strong, who smiled like a madman whenever he had a brilliant idea. Anyways, in the picture, her mother’s bouquet was one of moonlaces.

“Yeah,” she said, positive. “I think she does have a thing for moonlaces.” Martin smiled. He smiled a lot. He smiled whenever she said something or did something, no matter how annoying it was. His smile confused her, because she couldn’t tell if he smiled because he was happy; or because he was being nice, and it was the nice thing to do.

“What do you have a thing for?” His expression was sly, and Marisol’s heart almost jumped out of her chest. She’d never imagined Martin saying anything like this with a face like that one. _Holy Hephaestus_ , she thought. _I think I miscalculated_. And indeed she had, because Marisol hadn’t planned to like him at all. That summer’s resolution had been not to fall for any guys, yet she had fallen for Martin. Now she looked at him, asking her about more than just flowers, and she wasn’t sure she could handle it if Martin gave into her shameless and capricious petitions. She felt her throat dry and swallowed.

“Do you really wanna know?” She looked at him sheepishly, and could see his eyes shone differently... in a way they never did when she was a tease and was a little too straightforward.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know the answer.” Marisol sat by the lilies, looking at a fake starry night beyond the greenhouse’s glass roof. The Milky Way was a beautiful shiny thing very, very far away. Martin sat beside her and their hands found one another. The Christmas lights on the trees made it look as if fireflies were making ambience for them.

“I have a thing for dogs. Not rat dogs like Chihuahuas. Big dogs, furry dogs, friendly dogs; like golden retrievers. I have a thing for strawberries, when they are sweet but slightly sour, when you dip them in chocolate.” She leaned on Martin and he didn’t back off, so she thought it was okay. “I have a thing for tea, tea with milk actually, before going to sleep. I have a thing for warm sweaters, a thing for leg warmers; warm, sweet cappuccinos with so many sugar in them I can’t fall asleep at all afterwards.” He began brushing her hair kindly, kissing her crown sporadically, and she turned just a bit, enough to press her cheek against his chest, clench a bit of his shirt in her fist. “I have a thing for winter, for motorcycles, for flying machines. I have a thing for fire, for forges, for chimneys.” Even though it was late afternoon, this fake night made Marisol sleepy. “I have a thing for bad boys.” She could feel Martin frown at this.

“I thought...”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be over it, really.” She was sincere, because lying to herself was no use. She knew bad boys drove her crazy and they made her forget her name, her dignity, and everything that mattered. “But I try to keep away from them. I changed them for someone better.” She kissed his chest, over his shirt, ever so gently, ever so innocently. “I have a thing for strong backs, tanned backs... a thing for amber eyes, a thing for nerd flowers.”

“Nerd flowers?” Martin asked, chuckling.

“Fuck.” She swore, groggily. She was, indeed, sleepy. “Flower nerds. I have a thing for flower nerds who choke on cigarettes and are lame cooks. Who are very shy and take it slow, and torture you forever before they expose you shamelessly by French-kissing you.” She looked up, and Martin looked down at her. He smiled guiltily. Like saying ‘guilty as charged’ and really meaning it. “I have a thing for you, Martin.” She told him.

“Like you have a thing for golden retrievers and for leg warmers?” He lifted an eyebrow at her and she giggled.

“No. I have a thing for you, like I have thing for breathing and smiling and being alive.” Before she could say anything else, Martin’s mouth was already on hers, and there was no asking, no premeditation, no dramatic pause. Her lips received his parted, and his mouth was already open. He tasted of pizza and orange juice. Mainly orange juice. He paused for a moment.

“I have a thing for you too, Marisol. But it’s more like the thing flowers have for the sun and water. Is more like nothing, because it’s nothing to be compared to. I have a thing for you like I have a thing for you.” Martin kissed her, and Marisol held on to him. The bricks guarding the lilies behind them made him feel quite uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going to tell. Because he had a thing for Marisol like the bricks sticking into his skin and bones.

 

 

Marisol went the whole way out to Long Island and Half-Blood hill, because she needed it. She left a Friday afternoon and cancelled all her plans with Martin and decided to stay through all the weekend. He’d sounded down on the phone when he’d say he had to study anyways. She wanted to stay for him, hold him for a whole afternoon, and watch him study. He was always studying when he wasn’t being a freakishly amazing boyfriend... when he wasn’t kissing her softly, making her skin tingle without him having to put his hands anywhere but in hers.

She went to Camp Half-Blood because she was freaking out, because she needed advice. Marisol had Sammy, Freddy and Hugo in mortal school. But Sammy, Freddy and Hugo where good to hang out with, to skip classes with, have lunch with. Not to talk about boy stuff, about freaking-out-state stuff... about any stuff at all. They weren’t good advisers. Sammy would always tell her women were nicer and funnier and _I don’t mind if you experiment with me, really_ ; batting eyelashes. Freddy had advised her a million times to date bad boys, so he was out of question. And Hugo... Hugo might say something sensible but, then again, he was high half of the time so, really, there was not enough sensibility in his opinion, to her taste. They all read good books and were smart, that’s why she liked them.

But, right now, she needed Kristin. She needed Evan.

Evan was Marisol’s first crush, and he was her first friend, and her first best friend and the only one to tell her to forget about him, because he wasn’t into her _that_ way.

“I like you a lot, silent steps, _Sol_. I really do.” He’d told her when Marisol had told him she liked him, after kicking his butt in sword skills class. “I simply don’t like you _that_ way.” He hadn’t let awkwardness stand between them, and Marisol knew she would never be completely free from his spell. But she didn’t mind, because Evan was nice and he was her best friend and she liked him better as such. She had the dark suspicion that, had she dated him, he would’ve broken her, just like all the boys had done with her. All except for Martin.

She was welcomed by Kristin, who was stunned yet happy to see her, asking her to take her side, and sleep in her cabin, sit at her table. Marisol would’ve ignored the strange petitions, except it was Kristin, and you never just ignore Kristin.

“What’s wrong?” Marisol asked her.

“Evan.” She said, angrily. _Of course it’s Evan. They should’ve thought it better before they began dating in the first place_. To Marisol, Evan and Kristin together meant either disaster or a romantic comedy and she was hoping for their friends’ sake it would be the second one. She wanted them to be together, they were good together. But they could also be bad, really bad.

“You know I’d love to sit at your table and sleep in your cabin, but that’s against camp’s rules.” Marisol sighed. “Also, according to your dating agreement, I’m only allowed to act as an adviser, referee or to take Evan’s side if that’s fair.”

“Why?”

“Because he was my friend first.” Kristin was open mouthed.

“You say that’s _our_ dating agreement.”

“Yes.”

“Mine and Evan’s.”

“Yes.”

“And I _agreed_ to it.” Kristin just couldn’t take it in.

“ _Yes._ ” Marisol, confirmed, once more, exhausted. “Look, you were very excited about dating Evan at the moment, and you just said yes to everything because you were so sure you’d never have a fight.”

“I’m _such_ an idiot. That sucks.” Kristin sighed and, to Marisol, looked more confident, more cheerful, and more open. Maybe dating Evan wasn’t such a bad thing to her, maybe they only had to sort things out. She also didn’t look sad nor hurt, just angry. That was also good, it meant it wasn’t as serious as Kristin made it seem. “Anyways, what brings you here?” She asked. “You didn’t iris-message me about it. It must’ve been a pretty rushed decision.” Marisol nodded. “Oh my gods, did Martin and you break up? Did he turn out to be an ass?” Marisol shook her head almost instantly.

“I actually think I would feel better if he were bit more of a jerk.” Kristin blinked, lost.

“You got me, Marie. Don’t know what are you talking about.”

“I think I like him _too_ much, Kris. Like _dangerously_ too much.” Kristin rolled her eyes.

“As if that were a problem.” Marisol glared at her.

“I’m serious here, Kristin.” But Kristin just wasn’t in the mood, which made it a first. She was always in the mood for advising, she was always in the mood for being a friend. More importantly, she was always in the mood for Marisol. She really had to fix her fight with Evan right away. “Just for you to know, Kris, I’m going to try to solve your issue. But you’re being a very great female dog right now.” Marisol couldn’t bring herself to call her lovely Kristin a bitch just because she was being one. She cared too much about her.

So she went to Evan. She had already planned to go to Evan. He always had the right answer or, at least, the answer she needed. And Evan was a boy, which meant he probably didn’t trouble himself being mad at Kristin when she wasn’t there. Marisol entered her cabin, and saw Evan lying on her spot, the way he always did when she was off after summer.

“Once again, Evan, that’s my spot. Even when I’m gone.” She could feel him ready to ask. “The name is written on the middle beam.” He didn’t move though, and she fell next to him, cuddling with him.

Evan was her safe spot, and when they were alone —truly alone, like now— they would act like an old couple, very used to each other, very comfortable with each other. Marisol would lie if she said she’d never thought of kissing Evan. He had rejected her when they were twelve, but when they were fourteen, he’d offered her a kiss, maybe just kidding, but she turned him down. She had already moved on, and had started dating bad boys. Evan knew her inside out, and was able to tell almost immediately, by the easiness he could wrap his arms around her tiny waist, that she was worried about something. She would usually try to slide out of it, arguing someone might see them and think what it wasn’t.

At this point, for Marisol and Evan equally, cuddling and hugging was like doing it with your childhood most favourite stuffed animal. The one you told all your secrets and the one you held tightly to sleep when you were scared. They were like siblings.

“What’s wrong, Sol?” He asked, sleepy. He was clearly taking a nap before he walked in. Chiron could be really soft with year rounders sometimes, seriously. Letting them take _naps_.

“It’s not like there’s something wrong.” She admitted, trying not to make the same mistake she’d made with Kristin.

“I am pretty sure something’s troubling you.” He was talking to her ear, and it tickled her. Now she knew the difference because, had Martin done the same, she would be a mess of feelings. Had Martin just lied with her on a sleeping bag on the floor, she would be a mess of feelings. It wouldn’t just tickle her. That was what defined the situation as an absolutely non-romantic one.

“It’s Martin. He’s great, he’s the greatest, in fact.” She told the pillow, because Evan was behind her, and she couldn’t see his face. “The problem is I like him. I like him a whole lot more than just ‘a lot’. I like him way too much, and I hadn’t planned to like him at all. It troubles me, because he doesn’t give me the certainty I’m going to crush and burn bad boys give me; and he doesn’t give me the feeling he’s just not enough for me. I feel he’s all I ever wanted, and I’m afraid to go and get it, even though he already has my name all over him.” She was freaking out, and Marisol did _never_ freak out. Ever.

“So you’re telling me your problem is that you like too much a guy who likes you back and most probably won’t break your heart.” Evan summed up. When he put it like that, it _was_ pretty stupid.

“Yes, is idiotic, I know. But if I could just know—”

“Know what?”

“That I’m not going to fuck it up.” Evan sighed.

“You are scared that if he’s not the one to break you, you’ll crush him instead.” He deduced.

“Yes.” She said, relieved. She knew Evan would understand.

“Well then, just don’t. Don’t cheat on him, don’t lie to him. If you don’t do either of those and something goes wrong it can’t be your fault.” Marisol turned around and kissed his cheek with a loud ‘muack’.

“Thanks, Evan. You’re the best.” He shrugged.

“I know.”

“Is there something I can do to help you fix things with Kris?” She asked.

“Nah, I got it under control.” He said, relaxed. She doubted his confidence.

“How?”

“I made her mad on purpose, so I can cause a greater impact when I tell her.” Marisol sat up, both curious and dreadful.

“Tell her what?” She asked, and Evan grinned. His eyes sparkled in a way they never had before. Mischievously, yet tender.

“That I love her, of course.” Marisol smiled and messed Evan’s hair. They were a good couple, after all.

“You’re such a romantic guy, who could’ve known.” Evan blushed.

“Shut up, Sol. You’re also pretty ruined by that Martin of yours.”

“I know.” She said, feeling that weird flutter in her stomach she got whenever she thought of him or heard his name, or saw him, or... anything. It was just Martin... _her_ Martín.

 

 

As Martin had to worry for senior year stuff, like tests and classes, Marisol worried for problems of her own. She did have tests and classes as well, but her thoughts were elsewhere. After her visit to camp and listening the confident and witty way Evan had said he loved Kristin, she thought about her own feelings. Did she _just_ like Martin a lot (or a lot more than ‘a lot’) or did she feel something _else_ for him? All her life, dating had been a thing of deadly attraction, not a thing of liking; of loving.

She would lose it and shout ‘ughh’ while messing her hair desperately whenever she stayed until late thinking of this. She was working on Martin’s birthday present, which had to be ready by November. Working on it helped her keep her mind off the daisies. _I love him, I love him not_.

Since Marisol liked to spend time with Martin (and so did he), but he had to study; they had to come up with a good solution: she would pick up Martin regularly and spend most of her time in his flat, watching him study. Soon enough, she was studying as well. Marisol had never attempted studying before that, and her grades rose considerably when she began checking her copybooks at Martin’s. Mainly because she had to pay actually go to class, pay attention and take notes in order to study with her boyfriend. Marisol was a smart girl, but before spending time studying with him, she couldn’t care less for school.

“I can’t believe your geekiness is a contagious thing.” She complained one afternoon, sitting on the floor in front of him. Her legs were spreading under the coffee table, and her feet were toying with his.

“I’ve never asked you to study while you hang around here.” He said, calmly, his eyes focused in his reading. If he could be so concentrated in his studying while she was around... did it mean he didn’t _love_ her? He _just_ liked her?

“If I study here, I have an excuse to sit beside you and invade your personal space when I don’t understand something.” Martin chuckled.

“You don’t need excuses to invade my personal space.” He informed her, and Marisol grinned maliciously. Had he been looking at her, he would’ve known it hadn’t been a good idea to tell her so. Marisol stood up and fell beside him, moving the couch under her weight. She wrapped herself around Martin, being careful not to block his sight, resting her chin on his shoulder. Martin turned to look at her, his expression between amusement and reproach.

“Marisol?”

“Yes, Martín?” She batted her eyelashes, playfully.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not needing an excuse to intrude into your personal space. That’s what I’m doing.” She looked so childish while doing so... he couldn’t help to think he liked her like that. Cheerful and playful. She looked like a little girl, and he remembered something. _Now_ I _can mock_ her, he thought.

“You can stop now, _Maddie_.” Her eyes flickered with surprise.

“How do you know _that_?”

“I’m your boyfriend, and I’m bound to be a good one. It’s my job to know all the possible nicknames applicable to you.” Marisol pouted.

“I don’t like it. Took me forever to make Seba stop calling me that. My mom will never stop, because it makes her nostalgic of the time I was a baby and Seba couldn’t pronounce my name. Not you too.”

“But you already call me both Martín and pretty boy; what’s fair is fair. Plus, it suits you way better than Aster.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t move.

“Fine. Call me Maddie. I’m staying here.” Martin forgot the pen and his book and turned to his girlfriend, glaring kindly at her.

“Let me study, Valdez. Or else...” he thought of some useful threat.

“Or else?” She mocked him, knowing him powerless. He poked her at the waist, wondering. She jumped in surprise.

“You are _ticklish_.” He smiled at his new discovery.

“You wouldn’t” her eyes widened, alarmed.

“Oh yes, I would.” He began tickling her and Marisol let go of him, erupting in laughter, which echoed around the empty apartment.

“Stop!” She pleaded, trying to catch her breath. “Martín, please stop!” She was now lying back on the couch, and Martin had crawled over her to keep his tickle attack. “Stop” she whispered, out of breath, and Martin stopped. They both took a deep breath, Marisol because of the laughter, Martin because she was blushing from the tickles. She was lying on his couch, at his living room, in his apartment. Marisol gave him a knowing look.

“Oups. Guess I got you.” She said, teasingly, and Martin rolled his eyes, beginning to retreat. Marisol held him from his uniform tie, the knot a bit loose now he was home.

“I have to study, _Aster_.” He told her. She blinked, hypnotically slow, making him concentrate on her eyelashes. _How long are they?_

“Call me Maddie.” Her voice was less than a whisper, yet still audible.

“I thought you didn’t like it.” He was still trying to break free, but each time with less insistence. Marisol was very intoxicating, her scent wrapping itself quickly around him, preventing him from wanting to get away from her.

“I like it when you say it.” She leaned a bit forward, pressing their lips together, and Martin followed without complaints. He positioned himself at her sides, and Marisol gasped.

“Maddie.” He tried.

“I know, you have to study.” She said, shrugging. It was inevitable.

“Later.” She looked at him, and was taken aback by the tenderness in his gaze. “I really like you, Maddie.” She smiled sweetly, and sat up slowly, moving a little to make room for him beside her. The sofa was small, but she was tiny enough. She put their foreheads together while she guided his hands to rest on her hips. He was like a puppet, a pleased puppet, letting her do what she wanted with him. He kissed her nose and Marisol shut her eyes. Martin made her sleepy, but good sleepy, like she was in the most peacefully place on the planet while by his side. He also made her nervous; because he never attempted anything... but then there were those few times he’d surprisingly taken the initiative. And she never knew when he might do that again.

“I really like you too, Martín.” She kissed him, and he brought her closer and played with her lips.

“I...” he hesitated. “I think I may be falling in love with you, Marisol.” She blinked, lazily, and kissed him. _Shut up_ , she thought. _I don’t know where I stand. Don’t force me to decide already_. Yet the flutter she felt inside her chest was undeniable.

 

 

You never talk about it with your parents. Talking about love with your parents out of Disney movies’ context is as secretly forbidden as sex talks or asking them about whether Santa and the Easter Bunny are real. Don’t even mention Jack Frost. Just _don’t_. Then again, since they’re parents, they definitely know about sex, and they might also know a couple things about love that you don’t. Still, Marisol thought she had to be extremely desperate for recurring to her parents.

Children usually know when things are wrong between their parents, and Marisol had the impression her parents had a pretty happy marriage. Except for the fact that her mother was immortal and was very likely to eventually walk away from her husband and her children but, hey, that was another thing. They only fought about little things, like how Leo kept supposedly flirting with the women who brought their cars to the garage, and how her mum should really stop trying to bake, or accept handsome men in her gardening classes.

“They just come to learn about gardens, Leo” she would usually say, with her eyes focused on her new work, some new variety of some flower. To Marisol, her mother’s plants looked all the same, which was curious, because she didn’t think the same about Martin’s.

“You are just too busy to notice how they look at you.” Her mother would smile, always looking like an actress taken from old movies, beautiful in the most natural and amazing ways.

“How do they look at me, then?” Her father would gift her mother a playful grin and would walk to her, to bend forward and kiss the point where her marble neck met her ear.

“They look at you like you’re not taken; like you’re not _mine_.” Marisol’s parents made her feel like they were surreal, as if they were some sort of alternate reality, or as if her life were a movie, or a book. Calypso remained beautiful and young, like a painting, while her dad aged with the quick pace of life. But he still stared at her with loving eyes and, to Marisol, _that_ was a miracle. That was love of some kind, for sure.

That’s why she decided to talk to him, because he might know something that might help her figure herself out. She went downstairs to the garage next to the building they lived in. They owned the whole top floor of the two stories tall building. According to Leo, they only owned one of the two apartments on the top floor, but with her and Sebastián, they needed more room for everyone. So they kindly talked their neighbours to move out (Marisol was pretty sure her mom had brought Aunt Lou to work the Mist on them).

She found her dad working on some sort of mechanism for some automaton. She recognised it from the one her cat Jerry had. Her dad had insisted in an automaton pet instead of a real one, and Jerry was indeed a wonderful cat, until he tried to eat a rat and made something go wrong in its system.

“How stupid, I should’ve thought of it” her dad had tried to apologise.

Buford the amazing table, rubbed one of its edges affectionately against Marisol’s leg. She smiled and sat on Buford, as she got used to, since the time she was little and spent hours watching her dad, her dark eyes glittering with awe when he used fire.

“ _Papá_.” She called. Leo turned around surprised, clearly not expecting her. He stood up, and ruffled her hair with a grin on his face.

“Hey there, kiddo.” Then he looked down at Marisol’s seat, Buford, and frowned. “How many times do I have to tell you not to bully Buford into becoming your chair?”

“Buford is happy to serve me as a chair, _papá_.” In many ways, and for a long time, Marisol had been daddy’s little girl. He’d taken care to spoil her, carefully instructing her how to do homework on the very last minute, or how to play pranks. Good pranks.

“After you leave he’s always moody.” He argued.

“That’s maybe because _you_ exploit him, don’t you think?” She joked. He shook his head, but smiled.

“What brought you down here, _mi niña **[1]**_?” He asked, as his hands lit up on fire to bend a piece of celestial bronze he had in his hands. Marisol looked down at her hands as she played with her own fingers. She didn’t know how to say it. The only reason she’d chosen to talk about it to her dad instead of her mum, was that he was going to be as awkward about it as her, maybe even more. She didn’t feel like asking her mum, who couldn’t help to start mumbling about an island and the gods; and _Hades, curse them all_. Her dad, instead, wasn’t good with most organic life forms, would be uncomfortable and would speak his own weird experience. She decided just to drop it.

“How did you know you were in love with mum, _papá_?” Leo dropped the scrap of metal he was holding and turned to face his daughter, blushing slightly. Marisol thought how weird was to see a grown man blush, and giggled, amused. Leo usually couldn’t help sometimes to feel nostalgic while looking at his daughter. In many aspects, she looked so much like his own mother, he sometimes thought he’d gone back in time to meet the teen version of Esperanza. Then Calypso’s eyes would stare at him from Esperanza’s face, and he would remember he was facing his daughter, not his mother.

“Eh...” he scratched his head, uncomfortable. “Do you wanna have _the talk_ , _cielo **[2]**_?” Marisol blushed and moved her hands as a negative answer, desperate.

“Gods, _no_ , _papá_. I just wanna know how did you know you were in love with mum, nothing else.” Leo sighed, clearly relieved.

“Good, good. That means your mother has stuck to our agreement. She was the one who was supposed to give the talks, not me.”

“Why her?”

“She lost a bet.” Marisol’s mouth fell open.

“You betted on who would have to give the sex talk to us?” She couldn’t believe it.

“It was funny at the time.” He said, grinning mischievously, which was Marisol’s favourite kind of smile to see in her dad. It made her think of all the puns he knew and hadn’t told her yet. “So, how did I know I loved you mum, huh?” He seemed way more comfortable with that question than Marisol had thought he would be. Apparently, it had only worried him the possibility of having to explain how were babies made. He stared down at his work for a while, and passed a hand through his hair, pulling it back.

“I would tell you to keep this between us but I have the terrible feeling I have already told these cheesy stuff to your mum myself.” Marisol chuckled a bit. It would be difficult for anyone to imagine Leo Valdez saying cheesy stuff, but not for her, who was a daily witness of the adoration her dad looked at her mother with. Like she was a miracle, his personal miracle. Part of that adoration reached his children, and Marisol knew her dad loved her. He didn’t need to tell her, but she knew.

“So?” Marisol insisted.

“I guess I knew because I sort of figured it was the only possibility. We had quite an encounter and after some days, it was obvious to me.”

“How long?” Marisol wanted to know.

“Something like a couple weeks?” He said, clearly troubled by dates and such.

“You loved her after a _couple weeks_?” Leo could see the preoccupation in his daughter’s eyes, so he hurried to correct himself.

“Yeah, but it was under different circumstances.” _Very different ones_ , his suddenly sad gaze seemed to say. “Is there something wrong, _cariño_? Why did you want to know that?” Marisol rolled her eyes.

“If I tell you, you’ll be mad. You’re always mad about that kind of stuff.” Leo grinned. The way she looked, like she was about to throw a tantrum, was the exact same way she had looked when she was a little girl and did not want to tell him Jerry had eaten a rat.

“I think I can manage not getting angry this time, but _just_ this once.” He offered.

“You know my boyfriend, Martín?”

“I know of his existence, that’s a statement.” His eyes flickered with more paternal jealousy than real anger. He wasn’t truly angry at the guys Marisol dated, he was more worried of his daughter’s safety. Calypso was always cooler about it than he was, yet she was always slightly more nervous than usual when Marisol was in a new relationship. Except this time. Maybe it meant it was right.

“ _Papá_.” She glared at him, ‘behave’ she instructed him.

“Okay, okay, go on.”

“We’ve been dating for three months now, and I really like him. He’s the best, really. He’s even managed to get me to study.”

“But studying is _boring_.” Leo noted.

“I _know_ ,” she agreed. “But he’s a smart guy, and he has a scholarship to maintain and he studies like, all the time. So studying is a way to spend more time with him. He really cares about me, _papá_. He’s nothing like all those jerks I’ve dated before.” Those were two good things to hear. That she understood she’d been dating complete asses and that, at least according to her, he wasn’t one of them.

Problem was she seemed deadly serious. So far, whenever she ended up crying, it was over. She never cried twice for the same guy. This time it looked like she could cry and suffer and be miserable about him a million times, but it wouldn’t stop her from coming back to Martin.

“I’ve got an idea.” He hoped it was a good one. “Bring him home to dinner sometime. If he passes it, you’ll know he’s worthy.”

“Yeah, like _that_ will happen. He’s already worthy.”

“Don’t sass me, young lady. I’m your father.” Leo enjoyed the sass-offs, they gave him more jokes for later.

“Yeah, and I’m Leia so not joining you to the dark side.” She stuck his tongue out to him. “Not bringing my boyfriend for you to scare him off or burn him till crispy, either.”

“Think about it, though. Dinner, not the dark side. We do not take moody teenage girls in the dark side.” Marisol rolled her eyes once more and stood up, taking herself out of the repair shop.

“Because you’re a bunch of old men in the dark side, and my youth would startle you.” She smiled, though. She liked talking to her dad. Even when he was a bit crazy and he could catch fire. Even when he was little too much like herself.

“I’m your father, _señorita **[3]**_! Show me some respect!” He faked anger at first. “I didn’t have many problems with familiar reunions, so your boyfriend should be safe!” He yelled from inside the repair shop. _Of course_ , Marisol thought, _your father-in-law is a titan locked forever in Tartarus and she doesn’t have any other family around. But I doubt neither you nor Seba would like to hang elsewhere to make things easier for Martín_.

 

[1] My girl, as in _my daughter_.

[2] Lit. sky. In this case it’s to be meant “sweetie” or “honey”.

[3] Young lady.


	5. Push and pull

> “ _The only thing worse than a boy who hates you: a boy that loves you_.” –Markus Zusak, The Book Thief.

Marisol was hanging out at Martin’s apartment once again. This time, the subjects to study were languages. Martin was going like crazy through French, Italian, Portuguese, Spanish and German textbooks. Marisol stared at her Spanish textbook, next to his huge pile of books and copybooks, and sighed with boredom. They were sitting together on the floor, working on the coffee table.

She already knew Spanish. She didn’t have to study at all, she nailed tenses and conjugations better than anyone in her class. She had had some troubles with Greek when she went to Camp Half-Blood, her head not as hard-wired to Ancient Greek as her parents’; but she still managed to pull it off. She was getting bored, and when Marisol got bored, she was a pain in the ass. Luckily for her, Martin still thought she was just energetic.

“How do you say ‘I like you’ in French?” Marisol asked.

“ _Je t’aime_ ” he said.

“Isn’t that ‘I love you’?” She asked confused, but also amused.

“In French you don’t say ‘like’. It’s not ‘I like chocolate’, it’s ‘I love chocolate’. Kind of. You can _mean_ you like it and not love it, but the word for both things is the same.” Marisol smiled, mockingly.

“So you love me.” She gave the question a shot, not really sure she wanted to know the answer. He was deeply focused on his textbooks.

“Yeah.” He said, and Marisol blushed. Her heartbeat rose. Then he realised what he had just said and lifted his eyes from his Portuguese homework. “I mean,” he thought about it, and looked at her. She was retaining her breath, trying to decide whether fainting right now would be overdramatic. “Yes. I _love_ you, Maddie.” Marisol felt teary, and took his face in both her hands to kiss him. “I love you.” He said once again, and she smiled.

“ _Je t’aime_ ” she said. Martin arched an eyebrow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She leaned against him, and rested her head on his shoulder.

“That’s up to you to figure out.” She said, still uncertain whether she loved him or not. She was both happy and scared now, knowing he was sure and she wasn’t. Her previous relationships had been nothing like the one she had now with Martin, and that made her doubt. Did that mean she loved him? Did that mean she didn’t? ‘Je t’aime’ was a good way to avoid having to make the choice to say it. Martin simply smiled and kissed her forehead, getting back to his textbooks. He had some important tests that week and he had to ace them.

“What’s the past for ‘she used to read Shakespeare novels’?” Martin asked her.

“In French?”

“No, silly, in Spanish. _En español, señorita_.” Marisol giggled. Martin had a terrible accent.

“You don’t really call girls _señorita_ in Spanish, you know?”

“You don’t?” He looked betrayed, like he’d realised then he’d been lied to all his life.

“Then how?”

“ _¿Quieres ir a tomar algo conmigo? He pensado que eres realmente bonita_.[1]”

“But you’re not naming her in any way in that sentence.”

“That’s the point, you avoid doing so.” She smiled. “Now, what you asked me to translate. ‘ _Ella solía leer novelas de Shakespeare_ ’. What do you want to use that for?”

“A short story.”

“What about?”

“The most annoying girl in the world, it’s—” Marisol took the copybook, impressed by the fact that a second ago he was reviewing Portuguese.

“This is about me!” She said, surprised. “It also has some _terrible_ mistakes. You sure you’re the best in your class?” Martin laughed.

“I get perfect scores in every test. Maybe I should suggest my teacher to be less forgiving. And of course it is about you. We’re supposed to write a short description in past tense about someone we care about. It has to be a novel-like description.”

“How did you know I read Shakespeare?” She looked at him, surprised.

“You don’t fool me with your motorcycle magazines, Maddie. I know that you hide Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet or Macbeth behind them. The last magazine you were reading, in fact, was different. You were hiding Poe, Edgar Allan Poe.” Marisol was wide eyed while looking at Martin. She kissed him again, and she would have forced him to kiss her all afternoon, but he had to study. He _always_ had to, but they were important.

“Martín?”

“Hmmm?” He wrote something down, then looked up.

“I know this might sound like a crazy idea, but Seba is coming home this weekend, and we’re going to have a nice dinner and everything and I was wondering—”

“If I’d like to have dinner at your place?” He guessed.

“You know you don’t have to, you can say no and it’ll be okay, really.”

“ _Why_ would I say no? That sounds like a great idea.” Marisol’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Really. In fact, I’m glad you asked. I was beginning to think you were embarrassed of me.” He admitted, and Marisol frowned.

“Now, why would I _ever_ be ashamed of you? You’re perfect.” Martin smiled.

“I don’t know. I have a low budget, I’m a flower nerd, a geek. I’m sure you could find a reason.” Marisol rolled her eyes.

“You have a freaking scholarship. You are smart, you’re humble and you’re polite. True, you study a lot, but that makes you hardworking, and you are indeed a flower nerd, but that’s awfully cute. And romantic.” He grinned.

“Is it?”

“Yes. Like in our first date, when you told me the yellow tulips meant there’s sunshine in my smile, and the variegated tulips meant I have beautiful eyes. That was like, epically romantic. Had you told so to half the girls you’ve had a crush on, you would have turned out to be Han Solo instead of Luke. A way prettier Luke, though.”

“I don’t get the reference.” Marisol’s mouth fell open.

“You _haven’t_ watched Star Wars?” He shook his head. “I’m so making you watch it. In the meanwhile, what I meant was that you wouldn’t have been single when I met you.”

“So I’m bad at flirting.”

“Basically. Yes... kind of. I’m happy it is that way, though. Bought me a chance.” Smile. “Now, aside from all those things, my parents have never, ever, invited any of my boyfriends over. They haven’t even suggested it, but now they have. I just didn’t want to force you into it. My dad will be there, and so will be my brother, and Gwen.” Martin pulled Marisol into a hug and kissed her crown.

“Don’t worry, I can take them.” Marisol looked up to him, and was amazed by the way he looked invincible. “They won’t be able to make me turn my back on you.”

“You’re like my personal superhero, you know that?” She kissed his shoulder, over his shirt.

“Now I do.” Marisol searched for his lips and finally Martin gave up his hopes of getting any more study that afternoon. He couldn’t go on having Marisol by his side, constantly giving him reasons for wanting to kiss her. She sat on his lap, kissing him passionately, making him blush bright red. He simply traced circles on her hipbone with his thumbs. She tried to get lost in the steady flutter she felt whenever she was this close to him, tried not to focus in the ‘I love you’ stuff. Marisol kissed his neck and Martin opened his eyes and fixed them on hers.

“You know you shouldn’t do so.” He told her.

“But I want to.” She pouted. Why was Martin always so considerate with her? Sometimes she wished he could be a little ruder.

“I know. Eventually, though.” He kissed her, kindly as always, and she let him. She let him kiss her his way. Slow, carefully, gently... _what_. Had she been dreaming or had he just kissed her jaw? Her jaw— and oh, her neck. _Martín, Martín, Martín, Martín_ , was all her trail of thought. _I can do this,_ this _I know_ , she thought. He stopped at the base of her neck, and went up to her lips again. Marisol was breathing heavily. Martin was so gentle, and she couldn’t do _that_. His kindness put her off her game, because she didn’t know kindness like his. She put her arms around his neck, trying to hide the fact her hands had lit up. It was kind of embarrassing.

“Got it.” She said, her cheeks flushed violently. “Okay, eventually.” Martin smiled.

“I’m glad you agree.” They kissed. And they kept kissing until it was dark outside.

 

 

Marisol was standing uncomfortably at the door, ready to hide Martin as he walked in. The doorbell rang, and Marisol opened the door, putting a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Her mother smiled at her from the other side of the door and Marisol felt anger rise inside her. Her family had been playing her like that half the afternoon, getting outside whenever she got distracted, and ringing the bell to make her believe Martin had arrived. She wanted to punch them.

She was wearing her black Chuck Taylors, jeans, and a pink t-shirt which read ‘Not a princess, you puny fly-bitten mammet’ which was her only Shakespearean t-shirt. Her dad loved it, and cracked up every time he read it. The doorbell rang once again and Marisol made a dismissive gesture with her hand, resolute to go to rest at her bedroom, already tired of having to open the door over and over again for her mum, her dad or Sebastián.

“Hello, Martin” said her mother as she opened the door, and Marisol was immediately back. There was Martin, looking very handsome. It struck her to see him without his uniform, or his camp t-shirt and denim shorts. He was wearing a plaid green shirt and khaki trousers, with green Chuck Taylors. Green suited him awfully good.

“Hello, Mrs. Valdez.” He said, with a charming smile, and turned to Marisol, who patted him on the shoulder, so she could kiss him hello. Martin was very dull and shy, which let her know he was quite nervous. “Hi, Maddie.”

“Hi, Martín. Come in.” She took him by his hand and dragged him to the living room, directly after the entrance, at the left of the door. She made him sit on the sofa and began checking he was okay. “You can still get out, I won’t hate you for that, I swear.” He laughed, relaxing a bit. The first thing he noticed was how normal the place looked. Reversed mess everywhere (everything looking tidy, but you could almost feel something hiding under the sofa) and, surprisingly, they included the rests of wires and scraps of metal here and there as part of a tidy house. Flower bouquets rested over every table. The rug by the sofa was clean but, even so, you could see tiny stains of oil over it, which gave it an improvised and home-like pattern unique and quite special. Technological stuff (like laptops, radios and such) were scattered around the flat, and everyone acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“You have a really nice place.” Martin told Marisol, since Calypso was no longer around. That’s when Sebastián and Gwen came in, and Martin stood up to say hello. Marisol glared at her brother, ‘Don’t you dare’ her eyes said. Sebastián seated between them, very smoothly. He put an arm around Martin.

Gwen was indeed a beautiful girl. She had her mother’s skin tone, but her facial features were clearly Asian. Her golden brown curls made her look like a model, even when she’d probably never used makeup in her life. She sat next to her boyfriend, between him and Marisol.

“Hey, man” Sebastián said. “I take my hat off for you. I can’t believe you’ve stood my sis for three months. Congrats, I can no longer say anything. If you can take her for that long, you’re doomed.” Martin chuckled. They used to be good friends, but that was before Sebastián had to play his role of annoying older brother. Martin knew he didn’t do it to be mean.

“I feel blessed” He said.

“Love is blind.” Sebastián made a pained expression. Marisol was about to say something, when Gwen stepped in.

“Is it, Seba?” She arched an eyebrow and Seba swallowed, knowing he was in trouble. Marisol grinned. She liked Gwen; she was a good sister-in-law, always backing her up.

“Not when it comes to you, babe.”

“Yeah, you say so.” She stood up and walked away, and Sebastián followed almost as if they’d rehearsed that scene. But Gwen was just trying to give Martin some space to relax and both Martin and Marisol were thankful for it. Before they could say or do anything, Leo walked in. He was wearing almost the same clothes as always, though he was wearing no braces, and his shirt was clean. Calypso was in the kitchen, cooking. She cooked every time she could, because she could not bake and that bothered her.

Martin stood up and Sebastián, now watching from afar as he waited for Gwen to unlock the door she was behind of, grinned with amusement, feeling slightly touched by the memories of him meeting Gwen’s family. Hazel was alright, and Frank, although always trying to scare him, was everyday more used to the idea of him dating his daughter. But Gwen’s uncle, Nico, gave him the creeps and made him think he was dead boy whenever he said anything that could upset Gwen. That’s why he hoped for his sake that Gwen would open the door before her uncle had time to materialise out of the shadows.

Martin held his hand in front of Marisol and Sebastián’s dad for him to shake it.

“Hello, Mr. Valdez. It is very nice to meet you.”

“Hello, Martin. It _is_ good to meet you when you’re not kissing my daughter.” Marisol rolled her eyes and cursed under her breath. The show had begun. Martin was evidently nervous, with his red face, and his eyes fixed on the floor. Marisol took his hand and pulled it for him to sit, once again next to her. “How tall are you exactly?”

“Six feet five inches.”

“What did your parents feed you when you were little? Saltpetre?”

“ _Papá_ , knock it off.” Marisol tried, but she was saved by her mother, who yelled from the kitchen.

“ _Amor **[2]**_ , where did you leave the carrots?” Leo looked towards the kitchen, which was rather huge, since they had modified it after they acquired the neighbours’ apartment.

“What would you want pepper for, Callie? Weren’t you doing fajitas?” He yelled back. Calypso snorted, audible enough for all of them to hear.

“No, I’m doing quesadillas. Of course I’m doing fajitas! And I need a few carrots.” She said. Leo stood up and hurried toward the kitchen, at what Martin let go of the air he’d been holding. They still stayed silent, hearing the rest of it.

“Holy Hephaestus! I told you to do stuff to put in the fajitas. What is this, woman?” They could hear Leo exclaim.

“It is stuff to put in the fajitas!”

“Why do you always have to go all Greek on my Mexican recipes? Seriously, there’s no chilli in any of these. Is that _olive oil_ what I taste on the meat and the chicken? And why exactly are there no beans?” Martin watched amused as both Sebastián and Marisol put their hands over their mouths to muffle their giggles.

“I don’t like to put chilli on the meat, nor the chicken. Yes, it is olive oil, it gives the food a nice flavour and it’s healthy. And Leo, for the love of the gods, nobody except you likes beans on their fajitas. I’m doing some vegetables instead.” She sighed. “You got to do the medias lunas before. I wanted to do them. Let me do this my way, okay?”

“But _my beans_.” They suddenly went silent and Marisol and Sebastián rolled their eyes at the same time.

“What happened?” Martin asked Marisol.

“Mum is convincing dad to stop bugging her about the way she cooks... with their weird stares and such.”

“Does this happen often?” Marisol nodded.

“You should’ve been here the time my mum wanted to bake apple pie and my dad asked for the recipe and waved her off the kitchen.” Martin arched an eyebrow.

“Why would he do that?”

“Mum is an amazing cook, really, but she can set the kitchen on fire if she tries to bake anything.” Answered Sebastián. Martin turned to Marisol.

“Would you burn my kitchen if you made dessert?” He asked.

“You wish. I am a great confectioner. Lend me your oven and you can kiss your abs goodbye, pretty boy.” Martin chuckled.

“Then do so, Maddie. I dare you to feed me sweets until I gain five pounds.”

“You’re on, Martín.” They were looking at each other, excitedly, holding each other hands, their noses nearly touching.

“Stop, please, you’re giving me diabetes. I could get caries just by looking at you two, seriously.” Sebastián complained. Marisol stood up.

“Oh, don’t be jealous dear brother, I have some love for you too.” She said, then leaned and kissed his cheek. Sebastián retreated immediately, brushing the back of his hand against where Marisol had kissed him.

“Ugh, gross. Little sister kisses. Those are forbidden since you began wearing bras. Ew.” Marisol laughed, and Martin took it all in, amazed. As a single child, Martin always thought curious how siblings looked alike, and the way they treated each other. Marisol and her brother did not share many features, but they had the same smile, and their eyes had the same almond shape. They both had dimples in their cheeks when they smiled and snub noses. Though Sebastián’s was longer and his features were more angular. He was also paler than his sister, and his hair was light brown.

“Dinner is ready!” Calypso announced from the kitchen. Gwen finally opened the door and offered Sebastián a kiss on the cheek, which he accepted without complaints.

“It’s _not_ ready. There’re no beans.” They all heard Leo complain. The four of them cracked up.

Martin sat between Marisol and Leo. In front of him was Calypso, and besides Marisol, were Sebastián and Gwen. Martin took some meat and guacamole; he did not dare touch the vegetables that had replaced the beans. The guacamole was especially good. Marisol filled her fajitas with a lot of vegetables and some chicken.

“Tell me, Martin. Are you studying?” Leo asked him.

“Yes, sir.” Leo was visibly pleased by being called ‘sir’. “I have a scholarship on a private school.”

“So I’m guessing you get good grades.”

“Straight As, sir.” He admitted. Calypso smiled, pleased.

“Did I tell you he offered to take care of my greenhouse? He’s a son of Demeter, you know.” Calypso intervened.

“Did he? That’s nice. The dryad kept forgetting to water your flowers properly. She’s a _plant_ , she should know about watering.” He said in disbelief. “What are you planning to do once you’re done with school, Martin?” Martin swallowed and cleared his throat.

“I intend to go to university, sir.”

“Really? You never told me about it, Windflowers.” Sebastián interrupted. “What do you plan to study?”

“Botany.” Answered Marisol, feeling the urge to say something. “He wants to go to Harvard or Yale if he can, don’t you, Martín?” He nodded.

“Very good choices. What else are you good at, Martin? Do they teach you languages at your school? _Parli italiano? **[3]**_ ” Asked Gwen.

“ _Si. Parlo anche francese, tedesco, portoghese e spagnolo. Si ha una pronuncia eccellente, Gwen_.[4]” Calypso giggled, getting some of what he’d said.

“ _Pero si hablabas español, ¡podrías haberlo dicho antes! **[5]**_ ” She said. “ _Todos aquí hablamos español. Leo me enseñó a mí y luego a los niños. Seba le enseñó a Gwen_.[6]”

“ _Esa es muy fabuloso, señora Valdez_.[7]” Martin’s pronunciation was sloppy and he did not make the sentences properly. He talked way too politely, and Marisol knew he wasn’t very good with verbs.

“ _Si hablas español, espero que no te moleste que sigamos así el resto de la cena_.[8]” Leo said.

“ _Suficiente. Creo que es bastante con que lo interroguen en inglés, ¿para qué torturarlo en español? Dejen a mi novio en paz. **[9]**_ ” Marisol snapped. “ _Prometieron que se portarían bien. No me sorprendería que Martín terminase conmigo después de esto. Córtenla, por favor. **[10]**_ ”

“ _Papá_ , _mamá **[11]**_ , I think Marisol is right. Had Gwen’s uncle begun questioning me in Italian, I would’ve wanted to dig a hole and hide in it. Not to mention what would have I done had Mr. Zhang begun talking in Chinese.” Sebastián stood up for Martin, and Marisol felt like standing up and kissing him on the cheek again. Gwen smiled proudly at Sebastián, who grinned with the satisfaction of making the girl he loved fall for him again. The rest of dinner went pretty swiftly. Marisol stood up when everyone was done.

“May I take Martin to my room?” She saw her dad’s disapproving look, and she rolled her eyes. “I’ll leave the door open, promise.”

“Go on, _cielo_.” Calypso said, and she had to practically drag Martin away, since he insisted it was impolite to leave before table talk.

“Ugh, you’re such a masochist. You’ve got many problems and ninety nine percent of them are your good manners.” She told him.

“What is the one percent remaining?” He asked, curious.

“ _I_ am.” She smiled.

Marisol’s room was by the dining room and by the kitchen. It was painted orangish yellow, with warm, cherry wooden floor. A poster of The Rolling Stones hung from a wall, and a stack of CDs and some books (mostly Shakespeare’s) rested on a shelf over a desk. The desk had an iPod on it, and speakers. The rest was wires, tools, and magazines about motorcycles and technology. What looked like Marisol’s only purse hung from the desk chair, over which rested a black backpack with patches which read ‘The Beatles’, ‘The Rolling Stones’, ‘Macbeth Witches’, ‘Gryffindor Pride’, ‘I’m a hobbit, deal with it’ and ‘Thou lumpish dizzy-eyed dewberry’. Her bed comforter was white and the pillows on it were warm yellow, one of them was bee-shaped. Another one had Winnie the Pooh’s face. She fell on her bed and rested her back on the wall, hugging her knees. He sat beside her.

“You have a nice bedroom.” He stated. On her night table, rested a dragon-shaped lamp, and a ball made of celestial bronze scratches. “What’s that?” He pointed to the ball.

“Oh, that’s my cat Jerry’s hairball.” She said, nostalgic.

“Of course, your _cat_ Jerry’s hairball.” Marisol laughed.

“When I was little, I asked for a pet, as most little kids do. My parents said I couldn’t have a dog, because the apartment was too little for it to have enough space. My mum said I could have a cat. The problem was my dad thought an automaton would be a way better pet for me than a real animal. So he built me Jerry, the bronze cat.”

“Where’s Jerry now?” Martin asked, visibly curious.

“Dead. He tried to eat a rat. Didn’t agree with his engines. Anyways, he was way better than my brother’s goldfish.” She immediately brought her hands to her mouth. “Don’t you _ever_ tell him I said so. It’s still a sore point for him. He never got over Goldy.”

“Was Goldy an automaton too?” Marisol shook her head.

“Goldy was a very fragile, alive fish. One day my mother was cleaning its fish bowl and put Goldy on a glass by the window. Goldy was found by one of the neighbours’ cats. He didn’t make it.” Martin cracked up.

“That’s a terribly sad story, I don’t know why I find it amusing.” Marisol laughed with him.

“Me neither.” Their laughter died, and Marisol played with her thumbs, nervously. Half her thoughts were onto her daily debate ‘Do I love him?’ and half were worrying about the way dinner had gone. “So... from one to ten, how terrible was it?”

“Hmmm, three?”

“That being one ‘It was horrible, I’m breaking up with you’ and ten ‘It was awesome, I can marry you without any worries’, right?”

“No, that being one ‘It was awesome, I can marry you without any worries’ and ten ‘It was horrible, I’m breaking up with you’.” Marisol’s face lit up.

“Really?” She sighed with relief. “What would a three be, specifically?”

“It would be a ‘I can get used to this, I don’t mind, as long as I get to keep you.’ More or less. Maybe a ‘I like your family better, can I break up with you and keep hanging out with them?’“ Marisol picked a pillow and hit him with it.

“I knew it.” She said, and was about to hit him a second time, but he stopped the pillow and took it. “Give me my bee pillow back.” She demanded.

“I ask for something in exchange.” He grinned. “You have to invite me to more dinners. I want your parents to acknowledge my existence and my presence. I want them to keep in mind I’ll be the one to steal you away.” Marisol looked down, lovestruck.

“Will you, indeed?” She asked.

“Of course. I’ll go to uni to come back as a way improved flower nerd to sweep you off your feet.” Marisol smiled, but her eyes were lost in the orangish yellow of the wall in front of her.

“You have great plans, and I wonder if I’m ever going to be able to pull off something at least half as great. I don’t see an impressive future laying in front of me.” She said.

“I do. You could do anything you want, in fact. You have several talents.” Marisol forced a laugh.

“Right, like riding a motorcycle or being annoying.” Martin poked her nose, and pulled her to seat against him instead of against the wall.

“You’re smart, you read a lot. You enjoy classic literature. Your forging is outstanding, and I have never seen a better swordsman than you are. You know a lot about mechanics, and you manage yourself perfectly in three different languages.”

“You can talk seven.” She fought back.

“Lamely. That’s not the same thing as talking three like you were born talking them.” He took her hands in his. “You can work in your dad’s repair shop, or open your own. You can forge supplies for Dungeons and Dragons nerds, or you can forge jewellery. You could even study classic literature, if you wanted to. Although I’m not sure that’s in your plans...”

“My plans include me, my motorbike, money from savings and a highway.” Marisol explained, for the first time ever.

“You wanna make a road trip?”

“I wanna make _the_ road trip. I want to go everywhere, and I never want it to stop.”

“Wouldn’t it get lonely? I know you could meet people, several people, on the way. But if you keep moving around they can never make presence for long enough. Wouldn’t you want to stay... anywhere?” Martin did not talk about his presence or absence in her plans. He was only concerned about its flaws.

“I’ll stay where I run out of money. Settle there.” She explained. Martin smiled, and kissed her temple.

“Do you plan for a white picket fence and a big backyard?” He asked. Marisol turned to face him.

“We demigods can’t plan for those things, you know that. Monsters find us eventually. We are never certain about a future.” Martin lowered his eyes.

“Yeah, _us_ demigods. But the godly blood in you is almost inexistent. You can dream of white picket fences, big backyards, six children and a car. You _should_. Maybe not dream about _that_ exactly, but you should have big dreams and big plans for the future.” Marisol punched him softly on the arm.

“Ugh, stop talking like that, you sound like my parents, or Seba, which is worse. If there’s anyone who should plan a future, it’s you. You with your botany degree and your straight A’s record.” She turned, so he couldn’t see how she blushed. “Plus, I’m getting you on my motorbike before I run out of gas. Don’t think you’ll get away so easily.” Martin grinned and hugged her, kissing her behind her right ear, and Marisol felt herself melt between his arms. She played with his fingers, nervously. She’d had Martin all for herself, and they had been alone. She’d had him right in front of her and she had backed down.

It had surprised her greatly when Martin had proved her she wasn’t ready for loving, which was incredibly stupid, because she was always ready for it. At least when it came to Martin. She had a thing for Martin like the sun for the day, like its light for the Earth, always shining through itself or the moon. Even if she could’ve been doubtful, she was always readier than Martin. But it had seemed as if he’d been protecting her, like he was up to anything, but since he cared for her, he knew she needed time. It was bugging her, the way she hadn’t been able to say ‘Me too’ after he’d said ‘Bye, I love you’, the two walkie-talkie calls they’d shared after the first time he’d told her he loved her.

Now, she _did_ have Martin all for herself, but the door was open, and only a few metres away, waiting for the precise moment, was her dad, or her mum. Marisol, nevertheless, had Martin in her room, and she could not fight the idea that it would be funny to see what would he do if she tried anything. She looked back, and kissed Martin over her shoulder, which wasn’t exactly the most comfortable thing to do, yet it felt nice. Martin led the kiss to be brief.

“Why do you have all those geeky patches on your backpack?” He asked.

“Because,” she said, clearly amused he’d found a new topic for her to get distracted with. “Books geeks and nerds are usually nice people to talk to, so if you don’t get the references on my backpack, I mostly won’t bother to talk to you.” She explained.

“So it’s like a quick personality test.”

“Right.”

“Do you have any others?” Marisol thought for a moment.

“What team?” Martin was confused.

“What team what?” Marisol sighed, with disappointment.

“That’s maybe the lamest answer I’ve ever gotten. Most guys answer their favourite baseball teams, or their favourite football teams. Girls tend to say stupid stuff like ‘Team Jacob’ or ‘Team Edward’ or ‘Team Gale’ which are all equally stupid.”

“Then which one would be the right answer?”

“Wildcats, of course.” Martin chuckled, and Marisol turned around completely, kneeling in front of him before taking his face in her hands. “You gave me the first ‘What team what?’ which I will have to create a whole new category for. You owe me to make it worth my while.” She smiled, suggestively. He shrugged, impassibly, and Marisol thought maybe he was getting too used to her teasing. It wasn’t the same if he didn’t blush and yell.

“Later, ok? I promise.” Marisol narrowed her eyes.

“I want a little free sample.” She said, and kissed him, kissed him nicely, but demanding for him not to back down. Martin would take any chance to speak his mind.

“The door is open.” He said, Marisol kissed him. “Beyond the door is your whole family.” Marisol kissed his jaw. She loved the way it was strong and angular, but did not make his face look any sharp at all. It was like all the cuteness in him came out through his pores and softened everything in him. “They could come in.” Kiss, on the cheek. Kisses, all down his jaw line. Kiss, on his lips.

“Hmmm?” She mumbled, as if for saying ‘And?’ which made Martin lose his head. He held her by the shoulders, tenderly, so _he_ could kiss her now, when from the corner of his eye, he saw a figure appearing on the doorway.

“Hey, Mrs. Valdez.” Said Martin, clearly shaken a bit by the fact that he had been one second away from being found making out with Marisol. _Phew_. Calypso smiled, like she could tell what she’d almost stepped into.

“Dessert is ready. Martin, have you ever tried _medias lunas_?”

“Are there _medias lunas_ for dessert?” Marisol turned to her mother, her face lit up from the prospective of a nice dessert. Calypso giggled.

“Yes, Maddie.”

“What’s _medias lunas_?” Asked Martin.

“Argentinean pastries. Kind of like croissants but not at all like them.” Martin seemed even more confused.

“Dad usually makes them with jam inside, come on, they’re nice.”

 

 

 

Everything was ready. The cake in the fridge, Martin’s gift, her plans, everything. She was going to give Martin the best birthday he’d ever have. She put on her favourite red hoodie (which she reserved only for winter) and put on a white knitted scarf. She’d love to wear a knitted hat, as well, but it wasn’t cold enough yet. If she got used to it now, she’d freeze when it got colder. She put her backpack on, only one strap on her shoulder, when her walkie-talkie beeped. It could only be one person, so she picked up quickly.

“Mornin’, pretty boy.” She said as she put on her Chuck Taylors.

“Hey. Marisol, we can’t date anymore.” Marisol almost fell to the floor.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” She almost yelled at the artefact, which was kind of silly, because she looked like a little girl annoyed with her toy. “Are you drunk?” She had to ask, it wouldn’t be the first time a boyfriend of hers called her while drunk. It would be Martin’s first erratic behaviour in forever, though.

“ _No_ , which kind of question is that one?” He sounded insulted enough. _Okay, not drunk_ , she thought. _Good to know_. “I’m sick, so I can’t date you anymore.” Marisol let go of the air that had gotten stuck in her lungs, relieved.

“So you mean you can’t date me _today_ , because you’re sick.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, darling. I was really looking forward seeing you today.”

“Are you at your place?” She went to the kitchen and took the cake out.

“Yeah.”

“Well, then stay there and take care.”

“Marisol?”

“What, _darling_?” She mocked him.

“I love you, and I’m sorry for cancelling on you.” Marisol bit her lip, thinking how, as delirious and feverish as he sounded, he still found time to say such things.

“Don’t worry, Martín. I’ll fix everything, okay?”

“Are you coming? Don’t come, I have the flu or something, I don’t wanna pass it onto you.”

“Uh huh, yeah. Whatever. I’ll see you later, Martín.” She turned off the walkie-talkie, so Martin couldn’t protest anymore. It was his birthday, and he couldn’t not celebrate it. Also, Marisol had serious doubts about him being able to take care of himself while sick. She sighed and put the cake in a box. She took Martin’s present and shoved it into her backpack.

“I’m out!” She yelled to her mum, who was probably already gardening, and shut the door behind her.

Martin felt dizzy. He hated this state of sickness, when you feel too bad for doing anything but lying in bed, but you can’t bring yourself to sleep. He wished for a telly. It would solve his problem of insomnia. Also, he’d called Marisol early in the morning, around the time she was supposed to leave for school. He’d called her without even thinking about it, feverish, and couldn’t quite remember what he’d told her. He hoped he hadn’t said anything stupid. He also hoped he’d told her he couldn’t make it for their date. _Can’t make it to my own birthday, how lame_ , he thought. The doorbell rang. Or maybe he had imagined it, yeah, that was the most probable thing. He imagined the doorbell rang several times more. Finally, he imagined someone knocked insistently.

“I’m burning the door down if you don’t come to open it, Martín!” A voice came into his room. He smiled, groggily. His steps were lazy, but standing up made him feel more awake. Martin walked to the door, and opened it, hoping to realise he was just ranting. He looked, and there was nothing. He suddenly remembered most people were out of his immediate visual camp and looked down. There was Marisol with a million bags and a box in her hands.

“Move, it’s heavy.” She said. Martin tried to help her, but she avoided him. “You’re so weak you’ll ruin the cake. And that would be a complete tragedy.” She left the stuff on the kitchen counter and began sorting things. The box went into the fridge. The bags were full of water bottles and other kind of bottles. And some thingies to eat. He recognised those, from somewhere. There was also a bag a microwave popcorn. Two bags of popcorn. Also, her backpack, which she left carefully on the floor.

“Shouldn’t you be at school? Martin observed.” Marisol rolled her eyes.

“As well as you. But we’re both already here.” She picked up a glass and poured some of the strange liquid into it. “Have you taken any medicine?” She asked, already checking the fridge again.

“Medicine?” Martin asked.

“Fuck. There’s no cream in here, and I’ll need some marshmallows.” She turned around, and handed him the glass. “You’re helpless.” She exclaimed. “Here. Drink it, and go try to get some sleep.” She saw how pale he was, how dark and swallow his skin was around his eyes. “Gods, you look terrible.” She said, passing her fingers through his hair. Martin, as dizzy as he was, only closed his eyes to enjoy the wonderful sensation. It was so calming when Marisol ran her fingers through his hair... it brought him back to reality.

“Marisol, you shouldn’t be here, I’m _sick_. I don’t want you to get sick as well, plus, you mustn’t skip school, no matter what, and—” she shushed him.

“I eat all my vitamins. I’m healthy because I eat properly. You only eat hamburgers and green stuff every single day. You can’t hope to have a strong immune system like that. Now, drink it. I’ll be right back. I skipped school for a good cause. I told you I was going to make this the best birthday of your life, and that’s what I’m going to do.” She winked. “Drink, take a shower and go to bed. I’ll go buy some stuff. Do you have any keys you can lend me? You know, for not having to threat you with burning the door down if you don’t open it.” She smiled, and Martin could only think there should have been some kind of law against having such a perfect girlfriend. Like, what about the poor guys who could never get a girl half as wonderful as Marisol? Also, he thought what annoying and bossy mother she would make, since she was so used to getting her way with everything and everyone.

Martin drank, to discover what he was drinking was nectar, the drink of the gods. It tasted of _medias lunas_. He felt way better, well enough for doing as Marisol told him. He even opened the curtains.

When she came back, Martin was fast asleep. She entertained herself making soup with some spinach, carrots, chicken, potatoes and corn. She was soon over. Martin was sitting on the couch, looking more rested and more lucid. He frowned.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He said.

“But I already am.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly, you can’t.” She noted. “Otherwise you would’ve already thought of drinking some nectar for getting better. Or eating some ambrosia.”

“It’s not fair for you to take care of me like this.” Marisol sat beside him.

“I care about you, Martin. I care about you more than I care about anyone.” She told him. Saying this was not even half as difficult as it was deciding whether she loved him or not. “I want to be here to tell you how much you suck as a boyfriend for cancelling on me. And I want to be here to celebrate your birthday with you. Now you are, with no doubt, one lucky nineteen years old guy. You could never get a better girlfriend.” She smiled, and tried to kiss him, just a brief kiss, but he wouldn’t have it.

“I’m still sick.” Marisol rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be a baby. I’m not getting sick.” She kissed him briefly and messed his hair. “I made soup, sickish boy. Chicken soup. Wanna eat some?” It was chill outside, and soup sounded nice. After they had eaten lunch, Marisol washed the dishes. She came by with some ambrosia cubes and gave Martin one.

“That’s the last one” she warned him. “You should be like new in no time.” Martin smiled.

“Thanks, Maddie.” The ambrosia tasted like the pizza he and his dad always had for Thanksgiving. With extra cheese and everything.

“I brought Star Wars, episodes four to six. You can watch the first three episodes later. I personally like these ones better.”

“Too bad I don’t have a telly.” He smiled apologetically.

“You have a laptop, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but the disc lector is damaged and—”

“I didn’t mean that one.” Marisol stood up and came back with a gift package she pulled out of her backpack. “Open it.” Martin was already shaking his head in disbelief and awe by the time he opened gently the gift paper (the way in which you carefully open it by taking the tape off and such) which totally drove Marisol insane. Inside there was a strange-looking device. It took him a while to notice it was, in fact, a laptop. A really cool and light one, which was definitely too modern for being cheap.

“I can’t. I can’t accept it.” He said.

“Aw, come on. Took me forever to ensemble it. Don’t even get me started on the chips and the operative system. Ugh, eons were lost on those. And making it match Windows or Mac? I wanted to die. Had to recur to my dad a thousand times, even though I swore not to when I began. Don’t tell me now you don’t want it, because you need it, and I will hit you with it if I did it for nothing.” Martin was speechless, but he found his voice.

“You did this?”

“That’s what I told you, silly. It may still have a couple issues. If it does, I can fix them, I’m sure I can. I have been studying computer systems for more than a month now. It’s like the fastest processor ever to exist. It also keeps monsters away from it, because there’s celestial bronze in the— well, you get the idea.” She cut herself when she remembered he probably didn’t have a clue of what was she talking about. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Martin stood up, putting the laptop aside, taking Marisol’s hands in his. “You made a freaking computer. From scratch, just for me. You made a freaking computer and you don’t think you’re one for going to uni and such. Maddie, saying ‘I love it’ doesn’t cut it. Saying ‘I love you’, doesn’t do it, either. But yeah, I love it. And yeah, I love you.” Now it didn’t matter who was sick and who wasn’t because he was so happy and kissing her while bursting with that feeling was just the right thing to do. Marisol hadn’t looked enthusiastic about the gift, but now he was holding her tiny figure, he could feel how shaky she was. How worried, of making it right. Although part of her angst had nothing to do with him liking his gift. It had to do with him openly telling her that he loved her. His happiness became milder, yet not less existent, and he let go of Marisol, who seemed pretty proud of herself.

“So, Star Wars marathon?” He asked.

“Yeah, but I get to make all the mean remarks.” Martin smirked.

“You know I suck at those.”

“Touché.”

Martin led her to his room which was the first time she ever entered it with permission. It was neat as always, and the bed was already done. Martin sat against a wall and rested the new laptop on his knees and boosted it on. Marisol cuddled against him, and he put his arm around her, cuddling her in. _This is nice_ , he thought, as he felt the fragrance of her shampoo: plum. Marisol put the DVD in the laptop and they began watching the film.

“So, you may think Leia ain’t as pretty as Padme, and that’s true but—”

“Who’s Padme?” Martin asked.

“Damn, right. You haven’t seen the first episodes. Forget what I just said.” Giggles. “Darth Vader is so funny because he’s like evil but he isn’t. Nobody takes him seriously enough.” Pause. “You see that one? That one’s Luke, and gods, he’s like the lamest hero in the history of cinema.”

“Isn’t this movie like, a classic?” Martin asked.

“Yes, but it’s a classic because the characters take it so seriously and you can’t help to make fun of them.” Laugh. “Did you see his face? It’s like terrible hero face.” More laughs. Marisol kept making remarks on every single thing she thought funny or so, and they kind of paid more attention to her incessant rattle than to the movies. After the first episode, Marisol sat upright.

“Do you want some popcorn?” He looked better now. He was no longer pale, and he seemed more energetic now.

“That would be nice.” Marisol stood up and Martin thought most people would’ve already murdered Marisol for talking the whole movie. But he didn’t mind. He liked to hear her voice, to know she was there, enjoying herself just by sitting next to him and watching something she’d watched before. She walked in, holding two bowls full of popcorn.

“Salty or caramel?” She asked.

“Salty. _Who_ picks caramel?”

“ _I_ do. Salty popcorn is gross.” She tossed him the popcorn bowl, and he caught it midair, not without spilling some of it.

“You shouldn’t toss stuff.” He said.

“Okay, mum.” Episode V went quickly and Marisol made comments like ‘Do you get now why you were a prettier Luke rather than Han Solo to your crushes?’ or ‘Ew, if you get in trouble with Jabba the Hutt, don’t expect me to save your butt, because he’s so disgusting’ and such. Marisol sat upright again by the end of the movie.

“I brought stuff to make hot chocolate, and eat cake... sing happy birthday. I should go get things ready.” She moved to stand up, but Martin caught her by the arm. “Is there anything wrong?”

“Just— you can do that later. It’s nice just to sit with you. At any rate, we won’t be able to watch Episode VI before you go, so I guess we can use the time we would’ve invested in watching half the movie.” He said. Marisol sat back beside him, with a wide grin.

“But I’m not leaving early.” She explained. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I can stay as long as I want.”

“No, you can’t. Because it’s dangerous for you to drive back to your place too late at night.” Marisol chuckled, and kissed him. Martin put the laptop aside to make room for her on his lap. He held her hips, drawing swirls and figures on her hipbone.

“I didn’t plan to drive home late at night. I planned to drive home early in the morning. Maybe not so early. At noon.” She melted against Martin, kissing him, to silence his complaints.

“I’ll sleep on the couch, then.” He said.

“What about sleeping with me?” She teased, and he drew himself back, and shook his head.

“Valdez, how many times—” Marisol kissed his cheek.

“I was only checking. That I still made you nervous and such.” Martin smiled.

“Oh, you do.” He kissed her grin. “You do.” He kissed her shoulder.

“ _I’m_ sleeping on the couch, though.” She said, kissing him sweet, caressing his neck under the neckline of his pyjama shirt.

“No way.”

“Yes, you’re sick. Maybe the ambrosia makes you feel better, but I have to make sure you get through it completely.” His hands went up to her face.

“Didn’t you mention something about a birthday cake?” He asked.

“I baked it myself.”

“I’d love a slice.”

They went to the kitchen and Marisol took the box out of the fridge. The cake was small, for no more than ten people, but there were just two of them. Marisol set the candles and lit them. She wondered if Martin had other friends besides her, and how maybe she had stolen him and forced him to spend his birthday just with her. Instead, Martin had other thoughts about it.

“Wow, I think it’s been years since the last time I blew candles on a cake.” He said. “Actually, I think it’s been years since the last time I had a birthday cake.” Marisol was stunned.

“What do you mean it’s been years since you last had a birthday cake?”

“For the last few years I haven’t celebrated my birthdays at all. My dad sends an Iris message, and a birthday present via mail. My friends at camp are year-rounders, and they’re not many. There’re some nice people in mortal school, but I spend most of my time studying, so I don’t hang out enough for people to ask or care for things like birthdays.” He gazed at the candles on the birthday cake. Marisol couldn’t help to think how lonely and sad was not to celebrate your birthday.

“From now on, I take it as my responsibility to bake you a birthday cake and sing happy birthday to you.” Martin smiled. “Now, don’t forget to make three wishes before you blow the candles.”

“Wasn’t it just one wish?”

“Boring rules. My dad says in some places of South America they’ve three wishes, so he raised us to those wishing rules. They make three wishes when they blow the candles. That makes two wishes lost per year of life to any other culture in the world.” She explained. “Now, blow those candles and make your wishes. And don’t forget about me, I need someone to wish for me to get a new boyfriend. The one I’ve got is awfully cute and nice, and that’s not fair to the rest of the feminine population.” Marisol didn’t have a great voice and hated singing, but she did her best to sing Happy Birthday for him. Martin hesitated a few seconds of wish-making and blew the candles. He turned to Marisol and pulled her closer.

“Thanks, Maddie. For being so awesome, and giving me a really nice birthday.” He kissed her, and Marisol smiled, triumphant, knowing she had done it. She’d given him the best birthday ever.

“Now, you gotta bite the cake.” She told him.

“What? Why?”

“I was taught it was something you ought to do, good luck or something. Now do it.” Martin sighed, and leaned over the cake, and he should’ve seen it coming, yet he was not able to stop it, when Marisol helped his face into the cake. He came out with the face full of cream and chocolate. Martin glared at her. “I should’ve also mentioned you have to be careful with people around you. They will try for your face to get imprinted on the cake.” Martin rolled his eyes but grinned. He licked his lips.

“Holy Demeter, this cake is delicious.” He noted.

“Is it? I’m glad you like it. I haven’t tasted it yet.” She pulled him down from his shirt collar and licked some cream off his cheek.

“Yup, really good.” She noted, with a tricky smirk.

“Here you have some more, then.” He took some cream off his face with his hands, and applied it to Marisol’s. She giggled, passing a finger through her cheek to cleanse it and eat the cream. Martin leaned over her. “Let me help with that.” He kissed her cheeks clean. After they had finished teasing each other, Marisol helped Martin to get the rests of cream off his face by the sink, laughing at the way some cream got trapped between his eyelashes.

“Do you want some hot chocolate?” She asked when she was done. Martin looked out the window, and saw how cold and dark it was outside.

“Sure, spoil me a bit more.” And he sat on the couch, looking at her cut the cake and pour milk and wipe cream. Once again, he couldn’t help to think how nice it’d be to have her doing stuff like this all the time. She finally came around the couch with cake first, and then with mugs full of hot chocolate, with wiped cream and marshmallows. When they were done, they headed towards the bedroom and watched Star Wars, Episode VI. Marisol was tired, and made very few comments about it.

“Don’t stare at Leia for too long.” She said, when Leia dressed up as a slave appeared on screen. “I’ll feel jealous.”

“No way.” He told her. “She’s half as beautiful as you are. Even if with less clothes on.” And kissed her left temple. The movie was almost done, and sleepiness crept over Martin. He was really content with the fact Marisol had done all those things for him, and just for him. Nobody ever had troubled itself so much just for his sake.

“I love you.” He told her, brushing her hair.

“I know.” She said.

“Don’t get all Han Solo on me.” He protested but, when he looked down, Marisol was already asleep. He found himself trapped, as he couldn’t move to go sleep on the couch without waking her up. “You selfish girl, using me as your pillow.” He said, but he put the laptop on the floor, moving the less he could, and turned her ever so slightly to wrap his arms around her. Her breathing was paced and almost soundless. He eventually fell asleep as well, with his arms around her.

Marisol rolled to find an empty space next to her. She grumbled, confused, knowing she hadn’t gone to sleep alone. She extended her arms, looking for someone, but there wasn’t anyone. She opened her eyes, and woke up. She was under a blanket, and someone had taken her converse off her feet. It was rather cold in there. When she sat up, Martin came into the room with a tray.

“Good morning, Maddie. Did you sleep well?” She smiled, and patted the bed beside her so he could sit. On the tray there were two cups of hot chocolate and two pieces of cake. She arched an eyebrow, while he sat next to her.

“You made breakfast for me? Before you even got laid?” She whistled in admiration. “I must say I’m impressed. What are you going to do when we have sex? Fill the room with flowers?” She mocked, and then made a surprised face, gesturing to the plants all around her. “Wait, you already did that!” Martin blushed and glared at her, offended.

“You make it so easy for me to regret being nice with you.”

“There we have it, Han Solo. Now you know how to get the ladies.” She picked up a mug. “You sure it is safe to drink?”

“Ha, ha, Valdez. Very funny. And yes, I tasted it before I served it. Ain’t as good as the one you did last night, but at least it works fine enough.” He was pouting, and Marisol grinned. She took a sip, and then another one.

“Tastes fine to me.” She drank a bit more. “A bit more than fine, actually.” She kissed his cheek.

“What time do you have to leave?” He was worried. _Oh, my cute boy_ , Marisol thought.

“Right after breakfast. Dad will probably have a heart attack once he makes the math. Thankfully, my mother won’t help him. Which is indeed very good, because she most probably has already figured out where I was all night.”

“You shouldn’t hide info from your parents.” Marisol gave Martin an amused look.

“Remember when I told you I was one percent of your problems?”

“Yeah.”

“I tend to increase. Right now I’m five percent of them. You’re the one dating a bad girl now, _guapo_.” Martin grinned.

“Yeah, because you’re so, so bad; insulting people in Shakespearean style.”

“Shut up, babe.”

“You’re so _not_ adopting that as a new way to call me by.” Marisol grinned.

 

[1] Do you wanna go drink something with me? I’ve thought you’re really beautiful.

[2] Love, dear, honey, etc.

[3] Do you speak Italian?

[4] Yes. I also speak French, German, Portuguese and Spanish. You have an excellent pronunciation, Gwen.

[5] If you talked Spanish, you could’ve said so sooner!

[6] All of us talk Spanish. Leo taught me and the kids, and Seba taught Gwen.

[7] That is very fabulous, Mrs. Valdez (but with several grammar mistakes).

[8] If you talk Spanish, I hope you don’t mind if we continue like this the rest of the meal.

[9] Enough. I think it’s enough you have to question him in English, why torture him in Spanish? Leave my boyfriend alone.

[10] You promised you would behave. I wouldn’t be surprised if Martín broke up with me after this. Cut it off, please.

[11] Mum.


	6. Words wound like knives

> “ _You don’t love someone because they’re perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they’re not_.” —Jodi Picoult, My Sister’s Keeper.

Marisol stepped in, grateful by the warmth inside Martin’s apartment. She took her coat off. She didn’t like coats very much, she preferred jackets or hoodies, but it was too cold outside for her jackets, and the clothes she was wearing were no clothes for hoodies. Marisol loved winter, nevertheless, which was why she arrived in an excellent mood.

“Hey, pretty boy.” She said, taking off her gloves. “Gods, it’s freezing outside, I had to be crazy to have accepted to come to dinner. My bike does terribly when the road is so cold and slippery, gee.” She tapped his shoulder, and he kissed her briefly.

“Hi, Maddie.”

“What’s with all the shyness, babe?” She frowned. “After all the times you’ve slid your tongue down my—” she stopped herself when she saw Martin’s alarmed expression. _Oh_. “I assume, your father is already here.” She guessed, and peeked at the sofa, hardly visible with Martin standing tall like a wall in front of her. Seating on the couch, with no specific expression, was Martin’s dad.

Mr. Windflowers was a man of those whose age you can’t tell at all. He was obviously past his forties but, how much? No clue. He could’ve been forty two, or he could’ve been sixty. Not that he looked old, he looked ageless. He had Martin’s hair, short and properly combed; and golden eyes. She guessed Martin’s eyes were amber due to some mixture between Demeter’s brown eyes and his father golden ones. He was neatly shaved, wore a button-down white shirt and jeans. Also, he wore glasses. She found it amusing to realise Martin’s geekiness had been inherited from his dad. She walked towards him, lifted her hand and smiled charmingly.

“Hi, Mr. Windflowers. It’s pretty cool to finally meet you. I’m Marisol Valdez.” She said, as he shook her hand. His grip was firm and determined, which was kind of odd for someone who sold flowers for a living, but she chose to think of it as something good. He was definitely handsome, which curiously didn’t appear like the reason he had courted a goddess.

“Hello, Marisol. It’s good to meet you.” He said, dryly, and Marisol smiled wider to make the moment less uncomfortable. _Okay, awkward_ , she thought, because he didn’t look any happy for her presence at all.

“Uh, dad, she’s who I’ve been telling you about. Marisol’s my girlfriend.” Mr. Windflowers nodded, and looked at Marisol like criticising everything about her. She felt bad.

“Hey, Martín, is there anything I can help you with, for dinner?” Martin looked troubled.

“You know, Maddie, about that—”

“What?” She asked. “We are having a _proper_ dinner, aren’t we?” Martin winced. “Holy Hephaestus! For Zeus’ sake, Martín, it’s Thanksgiving! There should be turkey, and pumpkin pie and—”

“I don’t cook, and neither does my father. We usually just order pizza and watch the best games of the season.” Marisol looked like she was about to lose it.

“Okay, no way. I’m cooking something.” She stormed towards Martin’s kitchen and checked everywhere. “There’s nothing to make something decent!” She cried.

“ _Aster_ , I already told you—”

“Okay, okay. Got it. Pizza. Gods, that’s lame. Shame on you. A Demeter child who eats pizza for Thanksgiving, for the love of Hera.” Marisol sensed she’d said something wrong the moment she felt Mr. Windflowers’ eyes piercing through her. Clearly, he didn’t like to be reminded of his sweetheart.

“Tell me, Marisol, in which cabin are you?” He asked.

“I’m in cabin eleven, sir.” Marisol couldn’t remember the last time she’d called anyone ‘sir’, but she didn’t want to take her chances by not doing it. “That’s Hermes’ cabin. I’m there because both my parents are demigods, so I’m no gods’ child.”

“Oh, that’s interesting, I guess.” _You’re mean, I guess_ , Marisol thought. Martin gave her an apologetic look, and he came closer to drag her towards the couch. They sat on the sofa, Martin in between. Marisol kept answering questions that made her feel more and more awkward.

“What do your parents do for a living?” Mr. Windflowers asked.

“My dad runs a repair shop, and my mother currently teaches gardening in one of her greenhouses.”

“Oh, she enjoys gardening?” Martin wondered.

“Yeah, she’s crazy for flowers and plants.” This did not win her a safe spot, just won her mum one. As if _she_ needed it.

“Are you studying, miss?” Marisol hated it whenever someone called her ‘miss’. It made her feel as if it were in some ultra polite society instead of the real world. And she wasn’t comfortable in that parallel society.

“Yes, sir. I’m a junior in Fort Hamilton.”

“How are your grades?” Marisol faltered.

“They... they are.”

“Do you plan to seek university studies after high school, miss?”

“She isn’t sure yet, dad.” Martin intervened. Marisol took and deep breath and thanked Hephaestus. That was probably better, but the thing was Marisol was pretty sure she didn’t want to go to uni. Clearly, Mr. Windflowers was unimpressed. He was judging her with every fibre of his being, and Marisol sat very uncomfortable when Martin stood up to answer the door (probably the pizza guy). The main problem was she was not being directly attacked, she was being criticised in silence, leaving to her imagination the horrible things her current father-in-law thought about her. She was more tan relieved when Martin sat between them again.

“Who wants some pizza?” He asked. They began eating, and Mr. Windflowers passed his attention to Martin and, at first, Marisol thought everything was going to be better, but she was wrong.

“How have you been doing in school, son?”

“Nice as usual, dad.” He answered.

“Oh, he studies so much, sir. I’ve never seen anyone who studies as much as your son.” Marisol said, but for the way Mr. Windflowers stared at his hands, she was clearly uninvited to this part of the conversation. Marisol lowered her eyes and ate her pizza.

“I have been keeping track of your grades. You have an A minus and a B. When were you planning to tell me?” Martin also looked down.

“I’m sorry dad. But my average is still A. I talked to the teachers, they say it won’t affect my college application at all.”

“Your teachers don’t expect you to apply for Harvard. For any college, maybe, those grades will do. But if you intend to get a scholarship at Harvard or Yale, then you’re not doing well enough. This is the last year, for the gods sake!” Marisol couldn’t take the way Mr. Windflowers was telling off his son. Martin was a great guy; he didn’t deserve this, just for two stupid grades who couldn’t possibly affect his future at all.

“Sir, pardon my intromission, but Martin has studied harder than ever and he does his best at every single test. I don’t see any problem with his grades, really.”

“You wouldn’t understand, Marisol. My son looks up for excellence, for the best of the best.” Martin widened his eyes, knowing this was it. Marisol wasn’t going to back down.

“ _Excuse me?_ I could get into _any_ university I want, just as much as your son. I have other projects, which is different. But I’m capable of excellence and the best of the best, sir.” Mr. Windflowers glared at her.

“Martin, I think dating is not something you should be doing now. I think you’ve been getting distracted.” Marisol’s mouth fell open.

“Dad, I appreciate your concern, but Marisol has nothing to—”

“I insist. Look at your grades, you’ve never gotten an A minus in your life. Let’s not even mention a B. You’re more than this, son. You can date later, I’m sure this young lady won’t find any better while you finish high school.”

“Dad, please, don’t—”

“A B! In all of your scholar years, never an A minus, and now you’ve gotten a B!” He exclaimed. Marisol stood up.

“Look, Mr. Excellence, Martin is the smartest guy I’ve ever met and he’s also the best boyfriend any girl could wish for. I’m not breaking up with him just because he got a B. Got it?”

“You’re a bad influence to my son, I knew it the moment you walked in! You are not a proper girlfriend for my son, he deserves better.”

“Dad, Maddie, _please_.” Martin tried, with no success.

“I don’t care what you think I am! I am a _terrific_ girlfriend! Were you here when your son turned nineteen? Because _I_ was. That B had nothing to do with me; it had to do with _you_ and your horrible parenting. Your son was _sick_ and missed a crucial lesson! Who took care of him, living in New York all by himself? _Me!_ Who made sure he was okay for the next week, so he wouldn’t skip any more classes? Me again! Where were _you_ , Mr. Windflowers? I care for your son, sir. I care for him like I care for no one else in this horrendous world, and I think so should you.” She walked towards the entrance, and put on her coat. “I’m sorry Martin, I’m going to be late to Thanksgiving with my family. The pizza was nice. Thanks for inviting me.” And so, she slammed the door behind her.

“ _Why_ would you do that?!” Martin turned to his father, who smiled dryly.

“I’m truly sorry, son, but I had to be sure. You should pay attention to your grades.” He laughed, suddenly. “And you should go after her, quickly. It’s been a while since anyone reminded me of my flaws.” Martin glared at him.

“Great way to test my girlfriend!” He exclaimed, and rushed towards the door. “I’ll be right back.”

He chose the stairs, as the elevator was never coming up. He ran till he was outside the building. Marisol was getting onto her motorbike, and he could see she was crying. _Fuck_ , he thought. _I made her cry_. He got closer to her, and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Not now, Windflowers.” She shook his hand off of her.

“I’m really sorry, Maddie, my dad can be an ass when he thinks he’s—”

“I understand your dad can choose not to like me, he can behave however he pleases. But you did nothing about it, you just pleaded weakly. You didn’t stand up for me, Martin.”

“I thought it was Martín.” He tried. She turned her face to glare at him, and he swallowed.

“I’m sorry, but my Martín would’ve stood up for me and would’ve told his dad how nice I am. You’re just Martin, the stupid boy who denied me in front of his classmates and stayed silent when his dad said I wasn’t good for you.” He looked down.

“Will you call me?” He asked.

“I don’t know. Don’t call me before I do.” She hit the gas, and drove away. Martin cursed under his breath and went back upstairs. His dad apologised once more, and he forgave him, because Marisol was right. It wasn’t his dad’s fault, it was his.

 

“What can I do, Julian?” Martin asked his seat mate, the same one he’d been explaining Chemistry outside the school the first time Marisol picked him up.

“Do you have the answer to the question thirteen?”

“Primates. Now, could you—”

“And the sixteen?”

“Mammals. So, what do you—” but it was clear he wasn’t paying him any attention.

Martin was growing more and more impatient. Marisol had asked for space, and he’d given it to her. But it had been a week since then and she wasn’t calling. He’d thought of everything, and he couldn’t come up with something original for her to forgive him. And he’d had a million exams. He couldn’t do both, he was going crazy. The class was soon over, and Helen and her friends went up to Martin.

“Hello, Martin.” Helen said.

“What do you want now?” He asked, tired.

“Oh, I’m selling tickets to prom. I know you never attend such events, but since it’s our senior year, I was hoping you might wanna come.” Martin was half a heartbeat from telling her not to bother but, right then, he had an idea.

“Yeah, why not.” Helen was surprised. “How much is each ticket?”

“Well, that’s super nice. It’s five dollars each, you know, for charity and such.” Martin winced, he didn’t exactly have ten dollars for prom tickets. “Do you have a date for prom? If you don’t, you might wanna go with me. You would need no ticket.” Her eyes shone with incitation.

“Uh, no. Thanks.” He looked in his pocket, took ten dollars (not without feeling like he was getting rid of a lung) and gave them to Helen. “I want two tickets, please.”

“Who are you inviting then?” Helen asked, while putting the ten dollars in a safe box, and taking out two tickets.

“My girlfriend, Marisol. You already know her, don’t you?” Helen winced.

“You sure it is a good idea? She might feel bad surrounded by thousand of designer dresses,  while wearing a cheap one.” Martin snapped his tongue.

“I think she’ll manage. She’s tough enough.” He took his tickets, and began making plans.

 

“ _Hija! **[1]**_ “ Leo shouted.

“What do you want, _papá_? I’m busy!” Marisol yelled from her bedroom.

“Come here!”

“Why can’t you come _here_ instead?”

“If I tell you to come here is because I need you here, _cariño_!” Marisol sighed with exasperation, put away Othello, and walked towards the living room, where her dad’s voice came from.

“What is it, _papá_? Seriously, I was busy.” Leo rolled his eyes at his daughter. “Also, shouldn’t you be at the garage?”

“ _That_ , I should be doing, but I happened to encounter an enormous rose bush, and I think it belongs to you.” He faked wiping a tear off the corner of his eye. “I first thought they were for me, and I felt _so_ flattered, it’s a shame you go around making guys feel guilty, otherwise those could’ve been mine.” Marisol lifted her eyes to the ceiling, clearly not happy of her father’s childish ways.

“Where is it?” Marisol demanded.

“Where is what?”

“The rose bush, _papá_!” Leo grinned.

“Oh, that.” He walked towards the door and opened it. He put his left foot on the way so Martin tripped when he walked in, barely able to see by all the roses he was carrying. Martin didn’t fall, and he looked at Leo, puzzled. Leo grinned with complicity, and Martin smiled, grateful. When he’d gone to the repair shop asking for his help, because he was sure Marisol wasn’t going to open the door for him, he’d never expected Mr. Valdez to actually take pity on him.

“Oh, they’re _beautiful_. You shouldn’t have bothered, really.” Leo had exclaimed when he saw Martin’s face behind the roses in his garage. “You didn’t cheat on her, did you?”

“No, sir. Never.” Martin’d answered right away, and then told Leo what had happened.

“I will take you upstairs in pure masculine empathy.” He’d told Martin. “But whether she forgives you or not, that’s up to Marisol and only Marisol.” Martin had thought it was his lucky day or, just maybe, Mr. Valdez had decided Marisol was breaking up with him anyways.

“It’s your problem now, not mine, have fun, your mom is coming soon so no passionate reconciliations, I’m going back to work.” Leo told his daughter, and took off. Marisol looked at Martin and all his roses with mistrust.

“Well, you might have gotten my dad in your pocket, but you are still not okay with me.” Martin sighed, and dropped all the roses, yellow roses, on the couch.

“Marisol, I’m sorry. I should’ve told my dad you’re the best girlfriend ever, because you are. I should’ve told him not to treat you like that because I love you, and it’s not okay for him to talk like that about the girl I’m in love with.” He passed a hand through his hair, and Marisol could see a cut on it. “Please forgive me, Maddie. I really miss you. And I know you told me not to call before you did, so I didn’t call.”

“What’s that cut on your hand?” Martin looked at his hand, confused, then surprised to see the cut.

“Oh, I guess I got scratched by a thorn, you know, from the roses—” Marisol looked more carefully, and saw he was actually scratched all over. She took a hand to her forehead and shook her head, grinning sideways.

“You silly flower nerd.” She got closer to him, and took his hand, kissing the cut on it. “Why do you have to self-inflict you damage to make me forgive you?” She whispered. “Seriously. Smoking, cutting yourself... why don’t you just avoid making me mad and save yourself some pain?”

“Because I’m a _boy_ , and even when I try to be a good one, we boys are terribly stupid, and I can’t fight the impulse to do stupid things from time to time.” He shrugged. “Would you forgive me?” Marisol grinned.

“Just kiss me, babe.” She told him, passing her arms around his neck.

“Your mother is going to be soon.” He said, pulling her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Shoot.” She made him lean, so she could whisper in his ear. “If we go to my room, we have a couple extra minutes.” She smiled. “I gotta kiss you for everyday you were alone, just reading. You will become a full time nerd otherwise.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He kissed her, happy to be able to do so again. Marisol led him to her room, and she pushed him to lay on the bed. She laid next to him, and brushed his hair off his face. “I really love you, Maddie.” He told her.

“I really missed you, Martín.” She kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him. Not wanting to process the fact he loved her. He stopped to catch his breath. He took her face in his hands and kissed her left eyelid.

“Aster, darling, I wanted to ask you something.” He said. Marisol froze. _Not why I haven’t said ‘I love you yet’ please, not that_ , she prayed.

“What, Martín?” He took the tickets off his pocket.

“Do you wanna go to prom with me?” He asked, and Marisol went speechless.

“ _Prom?_ At your school? With all those girls who will probably look like princesses?” Martin frowned.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. It’s only if you wanna go.”

“I just thought you wouldn’t want to take me, since that’s going to most probably be a very fancy event.”

“I’m just going because I thought you might want to go. You’re the only reason I bought the tickets. If you’re not going, I’m not going either. Showing off my beautiful girlfriend is the only reason I would ever want to go.” Marisol grinned.

“Do you have to suit up?”

“Yeah, it’s compulsory.” She bit her bottom lip.

“I bet you look so hot in a suit...” she let the phrase hang in the air, and Martin blushed. “Okay. I’ll go. But we’re going in style. No lame rich limos. We’re going on my motorcycle.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Marisol laughed.

“Don’t act cool, I just saved your ass. None of us has the money for a limo.”

“ _Touché_.” She kissed his cheek.

“I’m happy you don’t mind taking me to boring social events.” She said.

“If you are there, I don’t see how can it be boring.” He was about to kiss her when they heard the flat’s door shut. Martin sighed, and Marisol’s eyes gleamed with interest. Was he really that disappointed her mother had arrived? “I guess that’s your mum.”

“Yup.” Said Marisol, sitting up straight on the bed. “Come on.” She pulled him from his shirt. “I’ll drive you home.”

 

“And then I took a glass full of punch, and poured it over him and his other two dates.” Marisol told Martin, who chuckled a bit, as they entered his apartment, holding hands. Marisol’s hands were rougher and warmer than most girls’. She didn’t need to hold hands to keep her hands warm in the cold. She had cuts and scars on her fingertips and all over her palms. The way she still managed to have perfectly polished nails was still a mystery to him. “I was so pissed... I think it was one of the few times I was mainly mad, not really sad.”

“I’m scared now. What if I pick the wrong wrist corsage for you? I’ll be screwed.” Marisol rolled her eyes and gestured around her.

“Have you seen your place? It’s a freaking greenhouse, Martín.” She giggled. “There’s no way you can get it wrong. Not when it comes to flowers.” Martin leaned over and kissed her briefly.

“Thanks for the confidence. And the ride.”

“It was nothing. I like your place. I like being here with you. I like making a mess of your kitchen.” He laughed.

“Yeah, you definitely like that.”

“I like _you_ , too.” She confessed, in a moment she wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying. She’d been avoiding to say anything like ‘I like you’ or ‘I love you’ in order to avoid Martin coming to realisation. She didn’t want to hurt him for three stupid words she couldn’t bring herself to say.

“I’m happy to know my only competition is the possibility of making a mess of my kitchen, and this apartment.”

“I like those things _because_ of you.” She laughed, a bit relieved. “I like you more than any of them.”

“Do you?” He put a lock of her hair behind her left ear.

“Yes, I do.” She pulled him towards the couch. “I like you, Martín. I really do. I like you, and I like the way I can say we’ve slept together.” He blushed.

“Not like _that_.” He rushed himself to clarify.

“I think I would know it if I had done more than just doze off by your side.” She laid back, kicking her shoes off and settling her legs on Martin’s lap.

“What do you plan on wearing for prom?” He asked.

“Probably some punk, sassy dress that matches my troublesome personality. Combat boots. My army vest jacket, something like that.” She saw the confused look in Martin’s face and giggled. “Oh, you meant for _your_ prom. Well, definitely the blue bra with the white lace, that one is really comfortable and it gives the illusion my boobs are bigger” she stared down at her chest. “Don’t worry girls, I’m okay with your size, but we wanna cause a good impression, don’t we?” She smiled. “And of course—”

“Marisol” he said, a hand on his face, embarrassed. “Please.” She laughed, moving and crawling to his side of the couch to kiss his cheek.

“Come on” she said. “Don’t expect me to believe you haven’t looked at my chest not at least once. Whether to notice the existence of boobs or the lack of cubic centimetres in them, but you _have_.” Martin rolled his eyes, red as a strawberry. “We’ve been dating for _four_ months, don’t be a liar.”

“I just can’t tell you I’ve ever looked at you that way.” He told her.

“Then you have.” She said, moving onto his lap, for him not to be able to look away, giving him a playful look.

“Marisol...” he warned her, his hands grabbing the couch at her sides, doubtful where to settle on.

“Don’t be like that, _guapo **[2]**_. It’s not a bad thing. It would worry me if you _didn’t_ look at me.” There was amusement in her voice, and Martin locked eyes with her all blushed and flustered, just to glare at her. Marisol gasped. She could tell him she loved him when he looked at her that way; angry, but not really, for teasing him like that. She felt suddenly small and too embarrassed to look at him, so she hugged him and hid her face in his neck. “I look at you a lot.” She confessed. “I stare at everything you do, everything about you.” She whispered. Martin felt her tremble, suddenly too shy to even look at him. He smiled and brushed her hair.

“Really?” He asked, more to encourage her to speak her mind than to hear how much she looked at him. Not that he minded hearing so.

“I look at interesting things, like the wide of your back, or the way your skin tenses when I touch it. I look at silly things like the way you purse your lips when upset, or the way your smile starts shyly on one corner and slowly takes hold of all your mouth. The way your eyes shine under sunlight or they darken and deepen when I tell you stuff like you’re smart and you’re kind and I’m crazy about you.” She retreated a bit, enough to look him in the eye. “I stare when you look at me like I’m amazing when I’ve done nothing special at all. I stare at your hands and fantasise about them, and their firm, yet delicate grip. I stare when you swallow hard, and your throats makes this weird move.” He swallowed, just like for proving her point and she smiled. “Just like that.” She agreed, hypnotised by him. By the way he smelled so much like grass and sun, and she knew it was a silly comparison, because the sun has no smell. But he smelled just like that, like the scent clothes get when you let them dry outside on a sunny summer afternoon. Not quite a scent, but that warmth and energy you get from sniffing it. He also smelled a bit spicy, probably his deodorant. She could feel him completely, sun, grass, deodorant and shampoo. Normal, cheap shampoo. Marisol swallowed, and unconsciously draw herself towards him and kissed him on his neck. A brief kiss just where his Adam’s apple was. She felt Martin’s chest rise and fall heavily under her, in an everlasting sigh.

He did not even bother to call her name. She was inescapable. Maybe giving in was the only way he could get any hold of the situation. He did not bother to move her away from him. Not just yet, her sun kissed skin so close to his, her lips touching spots so sensible on him. It was cold outside, almost December, winter roaring through the wind. Yet Marisol was warm. Warm, soft and addictive and so, so easy to fall into. Who was he kidding? He _did_ look at her, the way she pouted, when moody, like a little girl. The way she regarded him with a smile whenever he showed up to their dates with a flower in his hand. The way she shushed him with kisses whenever he told her, he loved her. His hands looked for the hair band that held her pony tail on its place and undid it. Her wild and soft big curls fell to the sides of her face and Martin pulled her in for a kiss. He didn’t know much about kisses, true, but he liked the way Marisol kissed. She kissed like she was made for kissing him, she kissed him hard, and she kissed him violently, like everything she did. She kissed him like giving up everything and laying it all in front of him. He always answered gently, smoothly, keeping up her pace yet balancing it to one a bit more calmed, way more lasting, and way more enjoyable. Her lips were soft and warm, like every single bit of her except her hands, which were a bit rougher. He dug his fingers in her hair, and Marisol sighed in his mouth like she needed air that just wasn’t there. There was a brief pause.

“When is this prom of yours?” She asked.

“A couple days before Christmas. On the twenty second, if I’m not wrong.” He answered, taking a brief look at her flushed face and her suddenly dark eyes, the very dark brown in them a small ring restraining the darkness. He kissed the place in her infinite and flawless skin where her regal neck met her shoulder. He did think of her. In some unflattering ways, with short dresses and long, silky gloves. He thought of her and the sensation of his fingertips tracing her shape over her clothes, under her clothes. He thought of her bare skin and he was not proud of it. But she was everywhere he looked at, she’d crept into his mind and his heart and had made herself a freaking mansion in them.

“I love you, Marisol.” He murmured against her skin, holding her waist. She froze. She froze, then she trembled and when she spoke, her voice cracked. His senses rang the alarm, he’d messed everything up. Marisol kissed his forehead.

“I can’t do it.” She mumbled. A lonely tear carved its way down her cheek, and Martin wiped it with his thumb.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He said right away. “I didn’t want to push you, I never thought—”

“It’s not _that_ , Martín. I don’t mind having you kiss me, having you touch me. It troubles me in absolutely no way.” She looked down, pained. “I _can’t_ say it.”

“Say what?” Asked Martin, just a bit relieved, but lost as ever.

“Say _it_.” She said, as if ‘it’ were obvious. “I can’t say it back.” Martin’s face softened with understanding and kindness. She was probably the best thing to have ever happened to him. And to think at first he didn’t want her to happen at all.

“Maddie, it’s okay.” He said, meaning it. “I don’t tell you I love you because I want you to say it back. I tell you because I want you to know I do. I tell you because I want that when you’re feeling lonely and sad, you can remember I love you. I tell you because I want that when you get mad at me for something stupid I did, you know I love you despite whatever I said, whatever I did.” She didn’t seem to feel any better.

“I want to tell you and I can’t. I like you like I have never liked anyone before. I care about you more than about anyone in this world. I would face a Titan army by myself just for you, and I would never consider you a lesser price. And I can’t manage to bring myself to do it. I just can’t.” Martin helped her off his lap and onto the couch.

“You don’t need to rush it, darling. You can take as much time as you need, just don’t get upset about it, because I’m totally cool with it.” She looked at him with teary eyes.

“You serious?”

“Of course. Let me just take you to the Charismas’ Prom at my school and brag I’ve got the prettiest girlfriend in front of all the other students.” Marisol smiled for a second, but suddenly her smile faded.

“I can’t” her voice seemed to crack again and she covered her eyes with her forearm.

“Why?”

“My dad prepares a flying car every other year to go to Greece during Christmas, since my mum gets homesick. I won’t be in town.” She laughed, which was not a complete laugh nor was it any cheerful. “Gods, I won’t even be in the States.” Martin tried not to look disappointed, and failed miserably.

“Oh, well, that’s...” he looked for the right word. “Unexpected.” He said.

“But promise me you’ll go. I don’t want you to miss your senior prom just because of me.”

“Maddie, I already told you—”

“Promise.” She urged him, and fixed her sad dark eyes on him. “Please.”

“Alright.” He said. “Do you want some hot chocolate? I bought more ingredients after the last time. It’s nice to drink hot chocolate when it’s cold outside.” He was worried, he knew something was off with her, and did not know how to help her. Marisol had so many issues; it was easy for Martin to find himself unable to do anything to fix them.

“Maybe another day.” Marisol said, and Martin had no more suggestions. Suddenly the ambience got awkward.

“Should we do something?” Marisol sat up and began putting on her boots.

“I’m going home.” Martin got up behind her and followed her to the door.

“Should I accompany you on the way down?”

“No, it’s okay.” Marisol was like strange, distant... like gone. And Martin didn’t like it, she was his personal ray of sunshine, his own star in this sad starless world.

“Are you sure you are okay, Maddie?” He questioned her, worried, taking her face in his palm, feeling her oddly cold. “I can listen; I _want_ to listen, whenever you need someone to.”

“I’m just... upset with myself right now, Martin.” The way she’d said his name right didn’t go unnoticed. “I’ll call you later, okay? We’ll meet up again between your exams and before I travel during Christmas, I promise.” She gave him half a smile, which made her look quite like herself, so he kissed her forehead fondly and regarded her with a wide smile.

“Okay. I love you, Marisol. Keep it on mind.” Martin said before she waved goodbye.

Marisol didn’t call him that week. In fact, Marisol didn’t call him at all until Christmas holidays had begun. He used to look at his walkie-talkie with worry, then frustration, then anger, then sadness. But Marisol wouldn’t call, nor would she answer his desperate calls. And fate had fixed it that his exams didn’t allow him to go to her place until it was too late.

 

He’d been toying with the idea of seeing her on the street, when he walked out from school, or when he looked out the window. When he was at the subway and the wagon began to move slowly, and he couldn’t get off to check whether it was really her or not. His father would be slightly pleased, knowing she was no longer around. But her absence was more distracting than any other thing, making him draw her in every blank page. Chocolate cosmos and asters filled up all the margins of his copybooks. He would find himself doodling them even on his tests. He was losing his head, with her image sealed in the back of his eyelids, smiling at him every time he closed his eyes. Martin missed Marisol so badly, he didn’t care about being angry or sad anymore, if she could just come by his place, he would hug her and chain her by his side and never ever let her go. But Christmas’ holidays had begun, and it was physically impossible for him to meet her until she came back from the end of the world. He couldn’t help but think it was his entire fault. She’d said it was because she couldn’t say she loved him, but he was sure it had been him, touching more than he should, letting himself go. Yet, the thought of her also reminded him of her last promise. We’ll get together between the end of your exams and the day I leave. But she never called. And when he thought of it, he got angry, because it hurt. Marisol had teased and flirted the way into his heart without even asking for permission, and now she wasn’t sure about it. Whether it was or wasn’t what she wanted. Missing her only helped to fantasise with her being there, though. He’d be mad if he actually saw her, but as long as her absence loomed over him, he’d make her ghost walk by his side everywhere he went.

Martin would’ve loved to take her out then, with the Christmas decorations lighting up New York, snow giving the town a magic glow he’d love to share with her. It wasn’t usual for it to snow in Manhattan, and it was a shame he didn’t get to make it a memory with her.

He began making the knot for his yellow tie and sighed, resigned. How pathetic was it for him to keep a promise like that one? The only reason to keep it was the hope to retrieve a long lost love. That was when, as his tie was almost done, his walkie-talkie biped.

“Hello?” He said, wondering whether they could work so far from one another.

“Martín? Thank Hephaestus, you answered.” She sounded both relieved and scared. “Could you do me a favour? I left a rather important object at my apartment, and I was wondering whether you could pick it up and place it somewhere safe?” From all the things he’d been waiting to tell her, to ask her; ‘Why did you go?’ ‘Why would I listen to you?’, he made only one question.

“Are you talking about your flat in Queens?”

“Of course I am.” He needed no more.

“Marisol, I think there’re at least a thousand topics we should discuss before I agree to do anything for you. Now, I’m going to be late to my prom, since _I_ do not break my promises.” He hung up, fixed his tie, got his jacket and took the subway. It was his senior prom, after all. His one and only opportunity to feel like a normal scholar, not a demigod, not something different. Maybe he could stand awkwardly like he was supposed to, maybe he could even gift some needy girls a couple dances.

He couldn’t get her voice off his head all the way to his prom. Why did she have to call just then? And what was so important for her not to be able to wait until she was back? Did she actually think they were okay?

He had to walk a couple blocks to reach his school, but when he got there, he froze. A motorcycle was parked in front of the building, and a sad-eyed girl sat with a dark blue cloak on. Her bronze skin shone soft under the nightlights, and her dark eyes shimmered with relief when she saw him. She stood, and she was the exactly the same as always. He thought it unfair, how she could go on with her life as the same, when for him there hadn’t been a moment he hadn’t thought of her. She was the same, only now she was a few inches taller; as if she were wearing... she _was_ wearing high heels. Dark blue strapped ones.

“You are wearing high heels.” Martin stated the obvious, looking utterly surprised. Marisol wasn’t one for uncomfortable clothing, she never wore skirts or dresses, or any shoes which weren’t her combat boots or her sneakers. She giggled, not happy, just suddenly amused.

“Sometimes even _I_ wear high heels. Mainly because nothing else fitted the dress.” He was about to ask ‘Which dress?’ when he realised that, even though he missed her lots, there was something called self respect. He couldn’t just act as if nothing had happened.

“Excuse me; I’m going in, nice to see you.” Marisol grabbed his arm. He looked so handsome it hurt her to look at him like that, so gorgeous, so distant.

“Martin _please_.” She did not dare to call him ‘Martín’. Her eyes were begging. “Let me explain.” He sighed, and sat on the steps.

“Okay, I’ll hear you out.” She sat next to him, and looked down.

“I know I did wrong, but I freaked out. I just couldn’t bring myself to figure out where was I, where I stood when it came to you. It was splitting my head; I needed time to sort things out. What we had... was anything like the other relationships I’ve had and I couldn’t decide whether that was a good or a bad sign. I didn’t want to get hurt again, and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I get you may need time, I can wait for you to figure things out. But you can’t just walk away and shut me out, letting me believe everything’s okay. You can’t because everybody deserves better, and because _I_ deserve better. You went out and made me fall hard for you, and the least I expected from you was not to play me around. I _know_ you. Something else is going on with you. You should’ve let me know, you should’ve let me help. You can’t expect me to welcome you just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “You were just protecting yourself when you left, and didn’t even think of me, how it would affect me. You say you cared, but what you did makes me highly doubt it, Marisol. I was sad, I was angry and I was upset, but over all things, I was hurt.” She lifted her eyes and focused them on his face, shattered. She knew she had no excuses for the way she’d gone away. But she couldn’t go on without him.

During those few weeks, she’d gone back and forth at every single room in her flat. She’d re-read Shakespeare and Andersen over and over again, hoping to find answers. She’d torn off the petals of a dozen daisies and she’d messed up a hundred simple, easy jobs at her dad’s garage. Leo’d had to gently wave her off before she could destroy anything he couldn’t fix afterwards. If there was anyone who could break something to a point of irreparable, it was his daughter. Even her mother had accepted without questions to sew her a dress. She’d seen Marisol so depressed she only hoped for the dress to cheer her up. She had barely eaten all those days. Only the expectation to see him again had made her look stunning for that night.

“I know I didn’t make it right, but I know something for certain, Martin. And it’s that I wanna be with you. I care about you, and I’m so sorry I sorted things out the way I did. I am all in, Martin. All in for this, all in for you. Just give me one more chance.” Martin bit his bottom lip, troubled. He wanted to believe her, but it wasn’t so easy.

Looking at her like that, so regretful and sorry, made him bend his will. He had a soft spot for the Marisols of the Earth.

“Then prove it. Prove what you’re saying is true. If you are all in, as you say, then work your way through.” He did not agree completely with his own decision, but if she made it, he wouldn’t have to regret it. “Show me you care. You’ve got four dates.”

“Four dates for what?” She asked, hopeful but also confused.

“For making me fall for you all over again.” Marisol gasped. “Shouldn’t be that difficult,” he observed. “You’ve already achieved it once.”

“When do I get my first date?” Martin looked down at her high heels.

“What about now?” Marisol grinned.

“You won’t regret it, I swear.”

“We’ll see about that.” He stood up and offered her his hand. “Let’s go, Valdez.” She flinched; it had been four months since the last time he’d called her by her surname. “Don’t wanna be late.”

 

The school’s gym was simply huge, and the decoration was breathtaking. Delicate and beautiful crystal snowflakes hung from the ceiling, and over every table and the stage, snow piled up, flawless and white. She knew it had to be fake, because it wasn’t cold at all in there, but Marisol couldn’t help thinking it looked so real.

At the entrance, a guy (was him a waiter?) offered her to take her cloak and Marisol handed it over. Martin went speechless when he saw her without the cloak. The dress was a little retro, white on the upper bit, the skirt of the dress beginning at a cut right after her ribcage. It had a classy neckline, the fabric falling loose between her shoulders, in a very elegant way. An extra pair of straps, navy blue, tied behind her neck. The skirt began by a navy blue lace which had a yellow-white aster on the left side. The skirt was also navy blue, but covered by white tulle, both the skirt and the tulle falling right past her knees, the tulle a bit longer. Over the lace around her waist and over the tulle, several gemstones, like diamonds, scattered around, shining over the blue skirt like stars in the night sky. The tulle finished with tiny white asters on the end, giving the illusion the stars turned into flowers. Martin was stunned. There she was, _his_ Aster, wearing asters. He thought he might lose it anyways and would make this the fourth date and tell her she’d done it. She’d won his heart.

“Holy Aphrodite.” Martin let out. “You look splendid, Marisol. So, so gorgeous.” She blushed.

“Really?” She was incredulous; after all, she was being tested. There was no space for being flirtatious or way too smart. Martin seemed to recover from the impression.

“Uh, yes. I’m sorry; I don’t have a corsage for you, what a shame.”

“Oh, but I do.” She showed him a corsage made of white asters. Then, she took out an extra flower and put it in his jacket’s breast pocket. “There. Now it looks like I’m your plus one.” He noticed the way the flower she put in his breast pocket had been perfectly cut.

“Did you read a gardening book?” She looked away.

“How can you even think I would do something like that? You know I hate studying.” She said, but he could tell she was being insincere.

“Come on; let’s go hit the dance floor.” He told her grinning, a little too happy, trying to hide how much he liked the idea of her studying just for impressing him, half his brain telling him to stand his ground.

“Do you dance?”

“Not really, but I believe it can’t be that bad.” Retro music was playing, as if on cue to Marisol’s entrance and her dress.

“You’d be surprised.”

Martin had been lying, he knew how to dance. Marisol knew very little, since she’d always stayed inside his dad’s garage, learning about engines and circuits instead of how to walk properly. She would give a few drachmas now for going back in time and taking some dancing lessons. Marisol was a mess on heels, and Martin found that very amusing. Thankfully for her, dances were supposed to be led by the man, which made her suck slightly less being Martin as good as he was.

“How come you’re not a million miles away?” He asked when the music turned a bit slower. Marisol had to catch her breath, exhausted, before answering.

“I sort of... got off the car in the very last moment, without them noticing.” She flinched at the memory. “My mother yelled at me for an entire hour when she got off the car in Spain and could send an Iris message. My father approved my rebellious attitude but, after an angry look from my mother, said it wasn’t the time or the place for me to pull it off.” She sighed. “Anyways, I had already stayed and they were already gone, so I apologised and entered our house.” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “I had made my mom do me this dress, when I was already going back and forth whether asking them to let me stay or not.”

“Your mother did it?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, she must be amazing—”

“Amazing at it, I know.” She looked down, suddenly blue. What was she doing? She wasn’t completely sure of what she felt by Martin, yet she had gotten off a car on its way to Greece and was dancing in high heels to retrieve him. It was unusual crazy for her, and she was worrying for her own sake. She was certain as Hades she liked him a lot, but he _loved_ her, and if she wanted to be with him, she’d be expected to correspond that feeling sooner or later. Martin felt suddenly guilty as he noticed how much she’d done to try to make things up. He smiled.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He lifted her chin. “How about we sit for a while? I can tell you’re tired.” He grinned. “You must be; being a terrible dancer must be very tiring.” Marisol’s face was full of surprise, since he never used to mock her like that.

“I was just trying to make you look good.” She made up. “It is very tiring to fake I’m terrible at dancing for your sake.” Martin gave her a doubtful look, but led her to one of the few tables scattered around. A guy with gentle blue eyes, messy blonde hair and distracted appearance came up to them halfway. Julian.

“Hey, Martin, you came!” He exclaimed, astonished.

“Yeah, I made a promise, so I had to come.” Martin eyed Marisol, who looked away, trying not to look responsible.

“I should probably get myself a dance partner because the world will be ending soon.” Julian joked. Then he noticed Marisol. “Whoa, Martin, who’s this beautiful girl by your side?” Marisol smirked, pleased with the comment, and the curve of her smile only made her look more gorgeous.

“Julian, this is my date, Marisol. Marisol, this is one of my classmates, Julian.” Martin introduced them. Marisol winced inside as she noticed how Martin introduced her as his date and not as his girlfriend.

“Nice to meet you, Julian.” Marisol smiled sideways. “You look like the kind of guy who takes advantage of Martin’s good manners in every class.” Julian lifted his hands, and Martin dreaded he might find Marisol’s comment rude.

“You got me. May I know how did you guess?”

“I harass the smartest ones in my class as well.” Julian laughed.

“You do?” Martin turned to Marisol.

“Come on, otherwise I would’ve been expelled already. I make my way to hand in my homework.” Martin rolled his eyes.

“Do you mind if I borrow her for a dance?” Julian asked Martin, who shifted uncomfortable. Before he could agree (because Marisol knew he would since he didn’t have a polite reason to decline), Marisol answered.

“I’m sorry, I’m very tired. Plus, I came here with Martin, and I intend not to let him out of my sight.” She smiled politely but dismissively, and dragged Martin away. They sat down, and Marisol rolled her eyes.

“Really?”

“What?” Asked Martin, having that dreadful feeling guys usually have of having done something wrong.

“You were about to give me away.” Martin winced.

“I wasn’t!”

“Yes, you were. If it were you the one in probation, and not me, I would’ve already ended this date.” Martin sighed, and his eyes flickered.

“Of course you would have.” He sighed. “But I’m not in probation. _You_ are.” Marisol looked away.

“Martin... you know I’m sorry, don’t you?”

“I do. I can’t be sure I’m able to trust you, though. I had just tried my best for you not to be angry at me and you ran away, without a proper warning, without an explanation. That hurt.” He stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“Outside. I’m going to take a walk, I need to think.”

“Then I’m going with you.” She said, standing up, but Martin waved her off.

“No, I’ll be right back. Just wait me here.” He was upset, she could tell that much. She didn’t like it, but sat there, sad eyed, resigned to wait him.

 

[1] Daughter.

[2] Handsome, gorgeous.


	7. Four dates

> “ _But you keep the promise anyway. That’s what love is. Love is keeping the promise anyway_.” –John Green, The Fault in Our Stars.

She didn’t like it, but sat there, sad eyed, resigned to wait him. Just as he disappeared beyond the entrance, a beautiful brunette in a green dress showed up. The green she was wearing brought up her light green eyes, which looked like jade gems.

“What a nice surprise to find you here!” She exclaimed, and Marisol sighed with irritation. How did these kinds of girls always have a perfect timing to be their most annoying? At least, she reckoned, she was alone.

“Yeah, who would’ve thought?” Marisol faked surprise.

“What a lovely dress! A little bit... old fashioned, but charming, I guess.”

“Yours make you look like a lettuce, but a healthy one, I guess.” Helen pretended she felt insulted, but Marisol knew she was faking.

“Where’s your little boyfriend, Aztec princess?”

“Having a walk.”

“And he left you here? You poor little thing, getting dumped like this.”

“You are just jealous Martin never paid any attention to you. His type was always the queen bee, but you could never get the title. And now it’s senior year and you finally are the queen bee, he doesn’t give a fuck, because he has _me_.”

“I would never be jealous of an insolent Mexican witch. Martin must be bewitched to be fond of you.”

“Watch your words, impertinent clay-headed harpy.” She stood up; her heels making her stand more or less tall against Helen. “Aztecs were known for eating the still-beating hearts of their enemies.”

“Maybe you ate Martin’s heart.” Marisol was about to answer, when Martin stepped in.

“Maybe, maybe she didn’t. But that’s not of your business. Or is it, Helen?” Both Marisol and Helen couldn’t believe Martin. He was always contained and polite, and he would always find the nicest way to say the rudest things.

“Well... uh... I just thought she might be troubling you.” Helen stammered.

“Whether she troubles me or not, it’s only mine the pleasure to deal with Marisol.” _The pleasure to deal with me_ , Marisol’s thoughts echoed. “I want you to please quit bothering her.” Marisol could only think of Martin as terribly hot as he told Helen off. Helen nodded and walked away. Marisol was staring at Martin wide eyed; he became shy under her gaze and scratched his nape, a bit embarrassed.

“Was I _that_ rude?” He asked, as they both sat down.

“You were _that_ hot.” She stated. Then she went back to her senses. “Why would you do that?”

“I realised that since you’re doing your best at these dates, I should at least let you try. You know, it’s a date after all. You should have a fair shot. Not one made way more difficult by my doubts.” Marisol blushed.

“Well... thanks. For everything.” Martin smiled.

“Actually, I have been waiting forever to have an actual reason to tell Helen to back off.” Marisol made an incredulous face.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“No way! She’s totally your type.” She exclaimed. Martin rolled his eyes.

“ _How_ is she my type?”

“You know, popular, untouchable, drop-dead gorgeous.” Martin chuckled.

“Why would you think that’s my type of girl?” Marisol simply gave him that ‘Please’ look and Martin laughed more. “Okay, okay. Got it. But I think my type of girl has improved a bit in the past few months.”

“How so?” Marisol looked at him curiously, hopeful.

“I think my type now is caramel skinned, dark eyed, dark haired tiny girls who can, and most certainly enjoy, letting themselves hang from my neck. Honest girls who lead me to love them even when I don’t expect to. Flirtatious girls who can even flirt with objects.”

“My favourite one is the oven. Because you have to heat it up, you know.” Martin let out a soft laugh, and then let it die.

“You’re not far from being my type, then.” Marisol smiled.

“It’s getting late.”

“I don’t have a limo.”

“I don’t care. I have a motorcycle.”

“Motorcycle sounds good.” Marisol stood up and Martin followed. She got her cloak back, and they walked outside. They hopped onto Marisol’s motorbike, Marisol driving, Martin behind. He was slightly reluctant to hug her, but before he could decide anything, Marisol turned around.

“Do you wanna drive?” She asked.

Martin didn’t know what to say at first. Marisol’s motorcycle was sacred to her, and no one could ever drive it but herself. She’d even never allowed anyone but him to ride behind her. She was like an overprotective mother when it came to her bike. Yet now she was offering him to drive.

“I don’t know how to ride a motorbike.” He thought it was the more sensible way to decline the honour of riding.

“Come on, I’ll teach you.” She jumped off and waited for him to move forward. He held the handlebars with caution, and waited for Marisol to sit behind him. He regretted his decision as soon as Marisol pressed herself into his back, and accommodated her face in the curve of his shoulder, to speak to his ear. She touched his leg, and Martin turned to look at her.

“Marisol?” He wondered, but he saw the professional, concentrated look on her she’d had when he’d first met her, and she’d studied his arm trying to picture the perfect sword for him. There was no flirting in her, not then and not now.

“You put your foot here...” she instructed. He obliged, his heart pounding so hard and fast, he feared she might hear it and understand what she did to him. “Exactly, and then put one hand firmly on the brakes... perfect. Now turn the key, hold the brakes, yeah. And slowly turn the gas... no, not like that.” She didn’t sound stressed, like most driving instructors. She sounded calm, even delighted. She pressed gently her hand onto his, driving with his hand. “Like this. Softly, like when you change a plant from one flower pot to another.” Martin was surprised by the analogy, but he followed her instructions, and the bike hummed between his legs. Marisol laughed in joy. “You did it!”

“Thanks to you.” He admitted.

“Wait, not done yet.” She put her other hand on his. “Let go softly of the brakes...” they moved forward and along the street. Slow but steady. “You got it, babe.” Her voice was so proud in his ear, Martin needed to turn to look at her, but as he turned to get a short glimpse, she tensed. “Eyes on the road!”

“Sorry!” He apologised. “Just that you called me ‘babe’, you know.”

“Oh, sorry. My bad. Anyways, you shouldn’t let anything distract you.” She smiled. “Not even me saying how a nice ass you have, and what a perspective I’ve got from here—” She waited for it.

“Valdez!” Martin wanted to turn around, but Marisol stopped him.

“Eyes on the road, pretty boy.” Martin wanted to get mad at her. But he had allowed her four dates, and this one hadn’t ended yet. “Sorry I made you uncomfortable. But I’m happy.” She confessed.

“Are you?” At night, with a lower traffic, Marisol’s voice was perfectly audible over the roar of the motorcycle.

“I’m very happy you gave me a chance, Martin. I really am. I’m very happy you told Helen off. I’m very happy you’re driving my bike without a license.”

“Wait, that’s no good.” Martin reckoned, and she laughed.

“I was supposed to give you a nice first date, but you gave me it instead.” Martin said nothing, and a few minutes after, they parked in front of his building.

“Have I won over a bit of thy heart, Sire?” She tried, as Martin got off her bike. He first looked at her quizzically, then let go of a smile.

“Just the tiniest bit, my lady.” Marisol bowed from the motorcycle.

“Then I shall take my leave. I’ll await thy call, Sire.” Martin chuckled.

“Await then.” He told himself not to, but he took a step in her direction and kissed Marisol on the cheek. “I thank thee for a fine date, Marisol.” He disappeared quickly behind the building’s glass doors, but Marisol stared at the empty space he left behind for a couple absent minutes. Her cheek tingled the way it had when he had ‘apologised’ to her for friendzoning her.

 

She didn’t sleep that night, lying on her bed staring at her empty ceiling, walkie talkie in hand. Morpheus finally got her when dawn was approaching, and she awoke near midday, to find herself still in last night’s dress and with the splitting headache little sleep often gifts. She woke up, had an apple for breakfast and took a quick shower before checking the repair shop’s list of clients. Better do something productive. She picked the clients who had asked to be taken care of during Christmas if possible. The mortal clients. Demigods’ needs were always something she didn’t want to mess with. Mortals usually had simple things, like a change of spark plugs or problems in the electric system. Those last ones would normally have no salvation, but she was a granddaughter to Hephaestus, and electric systems were like the simplest thing ever to her. She put on her dark red overall and braided her hair, with the hope to get less motor oil on it. Getting no oil at all was an impossible task. She went downstairs to the garage, her walkie talkie in hand. She waited for the first client to arrive. She promised to be ready by the afternoon, which was a lot more hours than it would actually take her, but she hated it when people decided to wait there and overlook her work. The old woman, who had brought an equally old car, did not doubt Marisol, who spent enough time in the repair shop and did enough little jobs there for some clients to recognise her and even prefer her. Mainly because Marisol was always free, while her dad was usually under a huge pile of things to do. Leo could get a simple mortal car problem fixed in five minutes, but he had a thousand five minutes jobs in his to-do list. On the other hand, it took Marisol ten to fifteen minutes, and she did not have much to do.

She worked all day, The Rolling Stones on the radio, earning some extra cash. If she kept the pace, she would make enough money to renew her motorcycle completely. It indeed needed some updates. By that afternoon, the old woman, Mrs. Jenkins, came back for her old car.

“Hello, Marisol, you look as lovely as always, my dear.” She greeted as she walked in.

“And you’re sweet as always, Mrs. Jenkins.” She smiled. “Let me fetch your car. It’s done, I left it like new, you’ll have no trouble with it for at least a semester. Sounds good, huh?”

“I’d prefer for it to never again give me any problems.” Marisol laughed.

“But it’s just not the way your car works, Mrs. Jenkins. He’s an old fellow; he needs to be taken care of from time to time.” Old Mrs. Jenkins chuckled, although the laughter died into coughing.

“You sound as if you spoke to my car.” Marisol smiled, then went to the back of the repair shop, hopped onto the car and drove it to the entrance. _I only wish I could_ , she thought. She’d learnt Morse code, but machines just wouldn’t talk to her. They only spoke to her dad. The godly blood in her simply wasn’t enough.

“Here you have. It no longer makes the rumbling which worried you or the high pitched sounds which startled you.”

“Thank you, my dear. How much do I owe you?” Mrs. Jenkins had a low pension and she was very humble. She always gave Marisol candy when she was little, and Leo had never had the heart to take a penny from the old woman. Just like him, Marisol couldn’t bring herself to take part of the little money the poor woman had to live with.

“You owe me nothing, Mrs. Jenkins. As always, this problem with your car was due to something we didn’t notice in the previous check. I wish for it to never happen again, but if it comes to that, we’ll fix it for free.” Mrs. Jenkins smiled, grateful.

“I know you want to save me some dollars dear. And I thank you.” She said, before getting in her car and driving away at ninety miles per hour. That was Mrs. Jenkins. Walking at a relaxed and soft pace, driving with furious velocity. She had spirit, which made both Leo and Marisol grin every time she drove away.

She went to sleep, exhausted, hugging the walkie talkie, and waiting for her call. Martin did not call that night either.

It was December the twenty fourth, Christmas’ Eve, and she woke up quite early. She ate some cereals for breakfast and dressed up quickly, so she could open earlier and make more money than the day before, hopefully. The station where they mainly played The Rolling Stones had shifted to Christmas’ carols for that day and, too lazy to go fetch her iPod, Marisol looked for any station which wasn’t playing songs of the season. She finally found one which was going through Louis Armstrong’s greatest hits and, since she enjoyed the vintage feeling the jazz gave the repair shop, she let it play along.

While she was swimming between engines and motor oil, she pressed the walkie talkie ‘Talk’ button and locked it hold, to put it between her shoulder and her ear as she worked. She hummed to the jazz until Martin picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hullo, Martin.” She said, the words a bit mispronounced because of her having to hold the walkie talkie on its place with her head. “I know you told me to wait, but I have two restless nights on me, and I can’t afford a third one.” She could feel Martin smiling on his side of the line. “So, how about a date, babe?”

“Uhm... I don’t know, Marisol. Do you really think it’s a good idea?” Marisol frowned.

“Are you kidding me? You gave me four dates, I have three left. For better or for worse, I will annoy you until you give me those three dates.”

“Very well” he gave up.

“There. Now, what time shall I pick you up?” She put a rebel hair, which had escaped the bandana she was wearing that day, behind her ear, smiling.

“What about now?” Marisol recognised the sound of Martin’s voice did no longer come from the walkie talkie and turned around to find Martin standing at the entrance of the garage. Her mouth fell open, and Martin’s did too. Hers for astonishment; his because, well, he’d never seen Marisol like that. Okay, she liked comfy clothes. T-shirts and shorts for summer, jeans and hoodies for winter. But an overall with the zip falling open till her ribcage to reveal a white tank top which wasn’t so white anymore, stained with motor oil and the sweat of hard work, wasn’t common. Her overall read ‘Leo and Calypso’s Garage: Auto Repair and Mechanical Monsters’ at one side of the zipper over her chest, and at the other side it read Marisol. Her hair was loose today, kept at bay with a bandana. Marisol almost dropped the walkie talkie. _Get over yourself_ , she thought, smiling like that kind of stuff happened to her every day.

“Hey there, Windflowers.” She clearly hadn’t been expecting him. “Just let me fix this one, I have to have it ready for today’s evening.” She moved some wires, pulled a few things Martin didn’t recognise and was done in no time. “There, now I can change.”

“Why?” He finally found his voice which lack, thankfully, Marisol hadn’t noticed.

“Because I’m messy?” She pointed at her stained overall and clothes. He walked to stand closer.

“I think you’re fine this way.” Marisol blushed, yet gave him a sly look.

“Am I?” She teased. “Come on, I can’t go out like this.”

“Then maybe we should stay.” He came even closer, and Marisol faltered. He should _not_ be allowed to do that.

“Uhum.” She agreed, sarcastically. “That’s unfair, Windflowers. You begin to flirt with me when my hands are tied. You should let me bite back, not play it safe like a scared little kid.” Martin studied Marisol.

“You have three dates left. You _can_ bite back. Whether it’ll help you or not, that’s for you to decide.” _Damn_ , she thought. _If I get you, I’ll bite you so hard for doing this to me_ , she swore.

“Wait me here, pretty boy. I’ll be back in five.” Martin chuckled when she left; trying to recover himself from the effort it had meant to play Marisol without falling into the game. He would’ve enjoyed for her to bite back, yet he had to pretend he wouldn’t.

Marisol came back after actually ten minutes, wearing a huge hoodie (probably one of Sebastián’s old ones), a scarf and jeans. She smelled of plums again, and her hair was arranged into two braids. Martin pouted in his mind. He liked her better when her hair fell wild and loose.

“Let’s go.” She told him.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Gender-bent date.”

“The what?” He questioned, confused.

“Gender-bent date. I pay, I make the moves, I compliment you, I give you flowers, I give you chocolates, and I win you stuffed animals. Got the idea?” Martin got it. It was a date inverting the roles. Okay, he could do that.

“Does that mean you get to drive now?”

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“Perfect.” He followed her and jumped on her bike. “What about your clients?”

“I left them a note. Nice fellows. They won’t mind fetching their cars tomorrow.”

 

They parked in front of a mall, and Martin gave Marisol a confused look. He had no money to spend in anything. He wasn’t a shopaholic anyways, even if he’d had the money. But Marisol just took his arm and led him inside. He mumbled a ‘What are we doing here?’ but she did not pay him any attention. She stopped at a flower shop, left him waiting outside and came out with a bouquet of white gardenias. She handed it to him.

“There.” She said. “You look cute with flowers.” Martin stared at his flowers, then at Marisol and gave her a curious look.

“Do you know what gardenias are for?” He asked.

“Of course I do, silly.” She smiled. “They’re for saying you’re lovely.” She jumped to kiss his cheek. “Now let’s get a walk in here while we make time.”

“Time for what?”

“For the movie, of course. I thought it more sensible to walk indoors since it’s freezing outside.” Martin smiled, surprised by Marisol’s consideration, and passed his arm around her head to kiss her crown.

“Okay, let’s take a walk.” Marisol’s ears were burning, but she smiled flirtatiously and took Martin’s hand to pull him forward. She was glad he didn’t pull his hand back. Martin’s hands were warm, like hers, and she liked the comfort of them. Martin felt quite odd with a bouquet in one hand and Marisol’s hand in the other, but he didn’t complain. He liked it that way. It made him feel he was walking on stable ground, and if she went on like this, he would have no excuse to reject her. He’d love her, he’d treasure her and he’d keep their love beautiful and hypnotising like a perfect rose, with all its thorns and all its charm. They first stopped at a bookshop, Marisol dazed by the magnificence of so many copies of her classic favourites. She stared for forever at the complete collection of Sherlock Holmes’s stories.

“I’m sorry.” She apologised, ashamed, as they walked out. “I should’ve paid attention to what _you_ might have wanted to see, not to books.” Martin smiled.

“It’s okay. I found some really nice botany books in there.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, a complete encyclopaedia about flowers, then another one about bushes.” He seemed really dreamy about them, and Marisol wondered why hadn’t he bought any.

“Why didn’t you get any of them?” Martin flinched.

“First, because it would be a bit troublesome to carry all those books around.”

“Well, you could buy just one or two, the best ones.” She offered.

“I’m penniless, Marisol.” He admitted, finally.

“Can I _please_ buy you one of them?” She asked, knowing it would bother him having her spend her money on him.

“It ain’t okay, ho—” he’d been about to call her ‘honey’ and had to bite his tongue to avoid doing so. “Marisol. You shouldn’t buy it for me.” She rolled her eyes.

“But if _I_ want to buy the book, you can’t stop me, can you?” She analysed. “And if I get suddenly tired of the book and don’t want it anymore, it’d be a waste for it to lay forgotten somewhere in my room instead of letting someone who’d really put it to use have it, am I wrong?”

“No, but I have to insist—”

“It’s settled then, I want that book.” She walked back inside the bookstore, before Martin could stop her, and walked outside with a gift wrapped book. She gave it a second glance, and grimaced. “Thinking better of it, I don’t want it anymore. What a shame.” She patted Martin with the book, and he glared at her.

“Really? Gift wrapped and everything?”

“Oh, Martin! I had no idea you were there.” She faked. “What a coincidence!”

“Marisol, you knew I was here, don’t be annoying.”

“What? I never knew a thing. Well, the book is going to hit the floor if you don’t...” she dropped the book and Martin caught it midair. “Catch it.”

“I think this belongs to you.”

“The one to find it keeps it. Not mine!” She stepped away from Martin handing her the book, and as he stepped towards her, she stepped away again. Just like that, they began running like little kids. Even though Martin had long legs and each stroke of his was like three of Marisol’s, she still managed to outrun him. Martin finally gave up when he run out of air, and Marisol went back to him when she noticed he could no longer chase after her, resting his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.

“Come on, Martin, let me gift you the book.” She insisted. “Take it as a Christmas present.” Martin thought of an argument to fight back, but she looked so eager to have him accept the book, he sighed, defeated.

“Alright. Christmas present. Thank you.” Marisol smiled.

“You really are out of shape, aren’t you?” She teased.

“Don’t push your luck. What time does the movie start?” Marisol checked the wrist clock she’d brought with herself.

“In twenty minutes. We should be going.” Martin incorporated, tall as always, and offered his hand to Marisol, his other hand and arm occupied by a bouquet and a gift wrapped book. Marisol smiled, and hugged Martin’s arm, as she leaned on him as they walked. Marisol made one last stop before the cinema. Martin turned as red as a red rose, and muttered a low ‘I’ll stay outside’ which made Marisol giggle as she walked into Victoria’s Secret. One of the attendants saw Martin, and walked outside.

“I don’t like pervy guys who stay outside fantasising.” She said. The attendant was tall, thin, with black hair, hazel eyes and freckled skin. Her name tag read ‘Claudia’. Martin’s ear turned as red as his face, and he shook his head as well as his hands, the gardenias and the book.

“No, it ain’t like that. My—” he cut himself. What was Marisol? His girlfriend? His friend? His companion, his pet? “My date is in there. See the girl with the dark, big curls and the bronze skin?” He looked inside to point at her to prove his point, but Marisol was gone. He stammered. “She probably went to the changing room to try something on, but I swear she—” The attendant cracked up and Martin felt slightly offended.

“You are so cute.” Claudia giggled. “Your girlfriend sure is lucky. I have never encountered a guy so worried not to be thought a pervert.” She glanced inside the store to make sure Marisol was still out of sight. “If you ever break up with her...” she gave him a subtle wink. “Come here. I’ll make sure to comfort you.” Martin’s eyes went wide.

“I don’t think that’s likely—” she shushed him.

“She is pretty, but not daring enough, for what I see. If I had a boyfriend like you, I’d make sure to model an entire collection of VS for you. Just saying.” Martin was thinking of something to say, when he was saved by Marisol.

“I believe you’re flirting with private property, _Claudia_.” She stepped between Claudia and Martin, glaring at her with her shiny dark eyes, which had never seemed hostile to Martin, but now cut like daggers, so sharp and angry poor Claudia couldn’t find somewhere safe enough to hide. “This is _my_ giant, look for yours elsewhere. Got it?” Claudia nodded, and ran into the shop. Martin feared a fraction of Marisol’s anger to fall upon him, but she gave him a blinding smile.

“Shall we go?”

“Aren’t you mad?” Martin asked.

“You’re lame at waving flirts away from you. But that’s nothing new. I’d be mad if you’d let her touch you... or worse.” She looked really repelled by the thought. “But that ain’t the case, so it’s okay.”

“So I’m a giant of your private property.” He pointed out. Marisol flinched.

“Yeah, sorry. Had no better ideas to protect you.” Martin chuckled.

“Nevermind. What movie are we going to watch?”

“Well, that’s up to you. We can either watch a horror movie or a chick flick, what would you like better? They both start at the same time.”

“Which one do you prefer?”

“It depends. If you are going to be ridiculously scared and hold onto me in every scary scene, then the horror movie. If you’re going to fall in the mood with the chick flick, and forget about the movie and you’ll want to make out in the dark... definitely the chick flick.” Martin laughed.

“I’ll go for the horror movie, then.” He said, thinking it the safest. “How did you know what time did the movie start?”

“Two minutes before leaving I checked a marvellous thing called internet.” Martin rolled his eyes to the teasing.

The movie turned out to be predictable and lame. Marisol pointed out every single flaw in the ghosts and listed all the ways Greek monsters were far more intimidating than those spectres. Martin felt as if he were watching a comedy with every remark Marisol made throughout the movie.

“We should go to an unconventional cinema. One of those tiny ones which play old movies, but only the good ones, classics and such. I’d enjoy that.” Marisol commented, as the credits made it on the screen and the lights flickered on.

“That sounds perfect.” Marisol thought for half a second Martin meant it’d be perfect for a fifth date. A seventh one. But soon she realised that was wishful thinking. He obviously had meant it would be a fun thing to do in the two dates she had left.

They walked out of the cinema, and Marisol drove Martin to his flat, in complete silence. She thought how nice it’d be just to hang at his place again, make out for whole afternoons, cuddling to study and such. Martin thought of how much longer should he keep her walking a dark alley, clueless. Martin got off her bike, and before he could say anything, Marisol sighed, like there was something she looked out for, but couldn’t reach.

“Today was great, Martin. Shall I call you?”

“Okay.”

“Tomorrow?” Martin chuckled.

“If you call me so soon, I might get tired of you.”

“But I miss you instead.” Their eyes locked for a moment. _Is this_ love _?_ Marisol thought. _Or isn’t it?_ Thought Martin on the other hand, contradicting and complementing her thoughts without even knowing.

“You should come tomorrow, anyways.” He told her, Marisol’s face lit up.

“Really? Why?”

“It’s Christmas. My dad is coming for dinner, I thought you could help me to uh, cook something decent.” He shrugged.

“It’s a date, then.”

“It needn’t be a date. I’m asking you a favour, after all.” Marisol smiled.

“I want it to be a date, so I can clean my name with your dad. He’ll be my father in law after the fourth date, anyways.” Martin smirked.

“Good night, Marisol.”

“Good night, Martin.” He turned, but before he took a step, she called for him. “Martin, wait.”

“What is it?”

“I just thought I should let you know that even if I didn’t get your heart tonight, I will. In any of these two dates I’ve got left.” Martin smiled.

“That’s good to know. Then I’ve got nothing to worry about.” Marisol jumped off her motorbike, pulled his arm forward, kissed his hand and hopped on again.

“Dream of me!” She yelled as she drove away. Martin looked at the back of his hand, a bit sticky from Marisol’s Chapstick, and stood outside until her motorbike was out of sight. He ran upstairs then, and tried to get some sleep.

 

Marisol tried to get some sleep as well, but she just couldn’t keep her eyes closed, all her thoughts directed towards the walkie talkie lying on the bed beside her, getting an electric aura from all the hopeful staring it had received during the past days. Sleep had crept slowly into her, and as she was crossing the thin line between being asleep and awake, the walkie talkie beeped. In her zombie mode, she didn’t quite get what was going on, so she let it beep. The beeping died and after a minute, it began again. This time she awoke enough to understand she had to answer.

“Tulips.” Martin’s voice said from the walkie talkie. His voice awoke her completely.

“What’s with tulips?”

“You bought me the tome of the encyclopaedia which is about tulips.”

“Correction, I bought myself that tome, then got tired of it and you accepted it as a Christmas present. But yeah, it’s about tulips. Don’t you like tulips?”

“They’re my favourites. How did you know?”

“The first flower you gave me was a chocolate cosmos.” Marisol said.

“ _How_ does that explain how you knew tulips are my favourite flowers?” Marisol giggled, her tiny laughs muffled by her sleepy state.

“Shut up, let me explain. You first gave me a chocolate cosmos. Then you gave me an aster as a nickname. In between there were roses, daisies. But you gave me tulips just once. Specific tulips, just once. For our first month anniversary. And I knew that I would need a very special occasion for receiving tulips again. You just don’t give them away.” Martin held back the need to spill ‘I love you’s into the walkie talkie, knowing it just wasn’t the time. He thought of something else to say.

“You knew the meaning to gardenias. I liked that.” Marisol smile widened.

“You mean you find that hot.”

“Maybe.”

“If it turns you on, I know about a lot of other flowers.”

“You do?”

“Just if it turns you on.” Martin chuckled. “But yeah, I do.”

“How so?”

“It’s impossible to spend four months with a flower nerd like you and not to learn a thing or two.”

“Prove it.”

“How would you like for me to prove it?” She revolved in bed, wishing to be lying with him. Just cuddling, like that night during his birthday.

“I’ll say a flower; you’ll answer with another one.”

“Fine.” She held the walkie talkie with both hands and waited expectant.

“Pink camellia.” _I miss you_.

“Pink camellia.” She whispered into the walkie talkie. Martin cackled.

“You can’t answer with the same flower, that’s cheating.”

“But I do. I miss you.” She heard Martin take a deep breath. He hoped for this conversation to have happened when he was with her.

“I’ll start again. Pink camellia.”

“Red carnation.” _My heart aches for you_. Another deep breath from Martin.

“Red camellia.” _You’re a flame in my heart_.

“White clover.” _Think of me_.

“China aster.” _I’ll think about it_. Marisol frowned.

“Hey, that was mean.” She complained.

“Purple hyacinth.” _Sorry_.

“Peach blossom.” _I’m your captive_.

“Saffron flower.” _Don’t abuse_. “Don’t tease so much with flowers, Marisol.” He instructed her.

“I like it; I bet it turns you on. I’m sure it does, that’s why you don’t want me to.”

“You are deeply wrong, Valdez.”

“Venus’s car.” _Fly with me_.

“Dame violet.” _You are the queen of coquettes_. Marisol giggled.

“Austrian rose.” _You’re all that is lovely_.

“You give me way too feminine flowers, Valdez.”

“But, think of it, your birth flower is the chrysanthemum. Red chrysanthemums are for love. Saying you’re lovely, or all that’s lovely kind of fits you.”

“Nor peonies nor sweet peas suit you well enough as your birth flower. And daisies... maybe the ‘I’ll never tell’ meaning...” Marisol felt guilty, and Martin must’ve regretted telling her so, because he immediately tried to fix it. “Lady’s slipper.” _Win me_. Marisol rolled over herself and dug her face into her pillow.

“Love-in-a-mist” she said, muffled by her pillow. _You puzzle me_.

“Is there anything that reminds you of me, besides flowers, Marisol?” Martin asked, wondering. Half-asleep divagation was not to be understood by the morning.

“What do you mean?”

“Asters and chocolate cosmos remind me of you. What reminds you of me?” He felt her sigh, as if she were right beside him.

“Adjustable spanners.” She confessed.

“I’m sorry?”

“Adjustable spanners, the tool. Just like them, you adapt yourself. You change to make yourself perfect for me. No matter what I do or how I feel, you always fit me perfectly. Adjustable spanners are my favourite tools. It only seems fitting for them to remind me of you.”

“Whoa.”

“Would you prefer to be a hammer?” She teased.

“I like being an adjustable... don’t know what.” Marisol laughed, tired. She was about to lose consciousness, but before that could happen, she had to tell Martin, so he didn’t end up talking to no one.

“Closed gentian.” _Sweet dreams_.

“Closed gentian.” Martin repeated.

“You can’t repeat flowers. That’s cheating. You lose.” Martin chuckled.

“I can’t believe you won. Good night, Marisol.” _It’s love_ , he thought. _I love her_.

“Good night, Martin.” _It’s love_ , she thought. _I can fall in love with Martin_. “One last flower for you tonight, Martin. Purple lilac.” _I’m falling for you_. She unlocked the ‘Talk’ button and fell asleep. Martin, on the other side, tried calling a thousand times more, but Marisol’s walkie talkie beeped unnoticed. After calling and calling, he finally gave up. He gave up and could not sleep that night.

 

She couldn’t find the right thing to wear. She didn’t remember much of last night’s conversation but she remembered enough to feel jumpy, nervous and over self-conscious. She had to look perfect. Not only for Martin, mind you, but also because this time she’d be the perfect daughter in law, and Mr. Windflowers would’ve no complaints. None at all. High heeled cream coloured shoes, yellow dress in-the-style-of Audrey Hepburn, cream coloured coat and knitted hat. Her hair was tied back in a high and perfect pony tail. All her clothes, of course, had come from her mother’s wardrobe. The only high heels she owned were the ones she used for Martin’s prom. With the pain of her soul, she took the subway instead of driving to Martin’s place, careful not to ruin her outfit. She arrived a bit past midday, as Martin had suggested over an awkward walkie talkie conversation earlier that morning, so she could have enough time to make a true Christmas feast. The door swung open before she could knock on it. She noticed a menorah standing as a centrepiece on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Hey there.” She said, carrying in a couple plastic bags full of ingredients for that evening’s dinner. Once she left them on the kitchen counter, she turned around with a small something wrapped in gift paper. “Merry Christmas, Martin.” She exhaled deeply as she held the present in front of her, the tension between them sparkling with dazzling static electricity.

“You already got me the book.” He said.

“Come on, this is nothing, I swear.” Martin took the gift, reluctant, and as he unwrapped it, he discovered...

“An adjustable spanner.” They said in unison. Martin smirked, and Marisol looked away.

“Everybody should have a toolbox, and so I thought to gift you the first tool.” Martin took a step towards Marisol, ready to kiss her, his hand on her waist. But she put her hands over his chest and lowered her eyes. “Last night’s conversation...” she began, not knowing how to put it. She was now fully awake and remembered every single part of it.

“Yes?” He lifted her chin, so he could see into her eyes.

“It wasn’t a real date, you know.”

“It was the continuation of one.” Martin pointed out.

“I’d feel like cheating if it counts.” She looked worried. “Please don’t let it count.” Martin withdrew himself.

“Dammit, Marisol. I don’t understand you, really. What do you want?”

“I want to win you the way you said I should, following all the rules.”

“It’s always about _you_. You want to follow all the rules. What about _me_?”

“I just want to make it perfect.” She admitted. “I want it to make up for everything I’ve done wrong.”

“Love isn’t perfect Marisol.” He explained. “It isn’t perfect, so if you’re expecting it to be perfect to prove all your previous relationships wrong, I’m sorry, it won’t be. If you’re expecting us to be perfect so we can fit your ideal of love, I’m sorry, we won’t be.” He sighed. “We’re perfectly imperfect the way we are. Why don’t you just give in and meet me halfway in this, Marisol? Why don’t you just make it simple and painless?”

“I’m on my way there.” She apologised.

“I’m already there, Marisol. I’ve been there for what it feels like forever, waiting for you to arrive. I have gotten rid of many things for you. You could get rid of your insecurity and your fear to get hurt, for me. I _won’t_ hurt you.” He did not raise his voice at all, but the severity and veracity of his words cut deep in Marisol, who felt as guilty and bad as ever, and could not hold back the tears. She could not be the strong, unbreakable girl. Daddy’s proud and glory.

“I’m trying, Martin. I’m so sorry, but I’m trying.” She sobbed. He immediately felt awful. He could not stand to see her cry.

“Come here.” He hugged her. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” She continued weeping, feeling pathetic on top of everything else. “You’re right, about everything.” He lifted her face, and held it in both his hands.

“It doesn’t matter. You have two dates left. Come on, Marisol. You told me you’d win me over, that you were all in.” She took a deep breath and calmed down. He was right, again.

“Right.” She dried her tears with her coat’s sleeves, and held her ground. “I still have two dates to meet you there, Windflowers. And I’ll meet you.”

“That’s my girl. Now you sound more like yourself.” He suddenly noticed she was slightly taller than usual. “Are you wearing high heels?” He glanced at her feet and saw the cream coloured shoes. Marisol smiled.

“They are just for you.” She said, taking a step back and her coat off, walking away to lay it on the couch. “I suppose you have an apron? It would be terrible to ruin all my efforts to cause a good impression.” Martin’s jaw fell slightly open and he cursed inside, because, _Hades_ , Marisol had won him over a thousand times, and if he could just do that... if he could win her over just _once_ , he wouldn’t have to stare like an idiot at her looking lovely and breathtaking for him, without being able to walk towards her and take the air out of her lungs in a kiss. Since that night during his prom, he’d wanted to kiss her so much. Why were things the way they were? He loved her, she liked him. At least that was for sure. Why couldn’t they make it work the way it was?

Marisol was lost in her own thoughts. She’d been able to please a thousand assholes before him, why couldn’t she simply do the one thing Martin asked from her? He didn’t ask anything but love, and he gave _everything_ in exchange. If she could just...

“I think... I think I should change. If you’re going to be wearing _that_ , I think I’ll be out of place just wearing jeans and a t-shirt.” He glanced at his green vans and his light-green t-shirt.

“You look fine.” She said, but Martin was already on his way to his room. He sure had classier, uncomfortable clothes. Unlike her, he did have to dress formal in several occasions. To begin with, he wore a school uniform.

Marisol went to the kitchen, and after finding an old, muddy apron Martin probably used once for gardening, she set herself on her task. First, she ordered the ingredients and made sure everything was on its place. Then she began mixing, chopping, beating stuff. In a few minutes, when Martin came back, his jeans replaced by khaki pants, his t-shit forgotten for a white shirt and a blue sweater, his vans won over by a pair of black shoes; the kitchen was a mess. But Marisol smiled widely and had some order in the chaos, there where she poured dough into cupcake moulds, and there where a crème caramel cooked itself at bain-marie.

“Are we going to eat just dessert?” He asked.

“Patience. The main course has to be served right after taking it out of the oven, while cupcakes and crème caramel are to be served cold.”

“Why so many things for dessert?” He insisted.

“I once betted to you I could make you win five pounds by feeding you sweets. Here I am.” Martin looked away. When they’d made that bet, they were okay. He had almost been caught making out with Marisol by her mother, and they were okay. “Are you Jewish?” She put the moulds into the oven. Martin looked puzzled for a second, then he understood.

“No. My dad was. Like, before meeting Demeter. It’s like a tradition now to have the menorah, since we never truly celebrated Christmas.”

“That’s sad.” Marisol thought. “To lose your faith for falling in love.”

“Well, I guess it kind of puts your religion in a difficult situation to have Greek gods around, messing with your world.”

“It’s kind of interesting, too. A Jewish hooking up with a Greek goddess.” Martin glared at her, and Marisol decided the change the subject. “Could you help me a bit here?”

He was asked to do easy stuff. Simple stuff like taking the cupcakes out of their moulds and setting them on trays, so Marisol could put on the icings and such. When Marisol was done with the cupcakes and the crème caramel, she did a fruit salad and a condensed milk sauce for it. It was around five o’clock when she finished doing desserts. Martin was starting to think dinner wouldn’t be ready in time, when she finally began doing something which looked like a main course. It took black pepper, garlic, onion, tomatoes, olive oil, and a few more things (was that wine?) until she was pleased with the marinating for the roasted steak she wanted to make. He didn’t find it boring at all to stare at her having everything ready, and when she was finally done, the steak in the oven, the desserts on the fridge, they both cleaned up as fast as they could. Just as they took a breath to say ‘We’re done’, the doorbell rang. Martin opened it.

“Happy Hanukkah son. How have you been?” Mr. Windflowers gave his son a hug and patted him on the back, then walked in to discover Marisol.

“I guess it’s Happy Hanukkah to you, Mr. Windflowers. It’s so nice to see you again.” Marisol said immediately, and she was shocked to see Martin’s dad smile at her.

“Happy Hanukkah, Marisol. It is indeed good to see you. Please, call me Marcus.” Marisol didn’t know whether to faint out of the impression it caused in her having Marcus treat her so nicely, or to laugh because of the name coincidences. _Mar_ tin, _Mar_ cus. Even herself, _Mar_ isol.

“As you wish, Mr.— I’m sorry. Marcus.” Almost as tall as his son, Marcus and Martin both standing next to her, dwarfed her terribly, even when in high heels. Martin and his dad sat at the couch while Marisol began taking out plates and salad bowls. In no time, she delivered a slice of roasted steak to everybody and sat down with them to enjoy dinner.

“Tell me, Marisol” Marcus said, and Marisol thought: Here it comes. “Are you having dinner with your family after dining with us?” Marisol lowered her eyes.

“Uh, no. My family travelled to Greece for the holidays, to visit some relatives. I stayed because... I decided to stay because I had some errands to do. At my dad’s garage and such.” Mr. Windflowers nodded.

“I see.” He took a bite of the steak. “This is the best steak I’ve tasted in a long, long time.” His eyes were full of melancholy, and for a fraction of seconds, Marisol wondered if Demeter used to cook for Marcus during the time they dated. _Dating gods is a painful thing_ , she thought. _They make you love them and then they disappear out of thin air_. Unlike most demigods, since both her parents had raised her up, but Marisol still knew that sad end to the gaze of the mortal who’s had an affair with a god. She’d seen it a thousand times in her dad, when Leo faced momentarily the sad reality that, one day, Calypso would leave. She now saw it in Martin’s dad, and it made her feel so sorry for him.

“Thank you. It’s my father’s recipe.” Marisol told him.

“You are a very good cook. You’re very lucky to have her around, Martin. I bet you’ve been living on fast food for the last years.” Martin blushed.

“I’ve been eating properly, dad.” He objected.

“Yeah, hamburgers and salad, very proper.” Marisol mocked. Marcus laughed, which made Marisol wonder what had she done to change his mind about her. “I’m sorry Marcus, but I have to ask. What did I do to make you like me all of a sudden?” Marcus laughed again.

“You’re strong minded and you go straight to the point. I think of those as valuable qualities, and even though I tested you so rudely the first time, I believe you’re just a perfect match for my son, either he chooses to be with you for a long while, or a short one.” Marisol cleared her throat.

“Oh. You flatter me, Mr.— Marcus. I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”

“I also appreciate you trying to look your best to cause a good impression.” Martin tried to hide a giggle, caused by Marisol’s surprise to have been discovered. The dessert also was highly praised by Marcus and Martin.

“Marisol, this is delicious.” Martin said. _There’s a door to a man’s heart through his stomach_ , she thought. She ended up entertaining Martin’s dad with her life’s story while Martin took care of the dishes. As soon as Martin was done, Marcus stood up.

“I gotta leave, son.” He announced. Marisol was surprised to see Martin pout.

“Can’t you stay a bit longer?” Marcus shook his head.

“My bus leaves in an hour, and I should better be there. But I’ll miss you.” Martin sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do.

“Take care, dad.” They hugged, Marisol standing a couple steps away, giving them their space.

“Good to see you, Marisol. Make sure he studies.” Marcus told her.

“Yes, sir.” She nodded. Marcus murmured something to his son and then they both saw him disappear behind the door. Just as he was gone, the tension between them appeared again, making Marisol shift uncomfortable in her place.

“Maybe I should go.” She announced, putting on her coat and knitted hat.

“Maybe.” Martin agreed.

“See you.” She gifted him one last smile and disappeared through the door. Standing on his kitchen, alone, he realised they _could_ work the way they were. He just had to be more patient. Hadn’t his dad taught him so? Patience was the key to success. Patience and effort. He had just told him not to mess up things with Marisol. Then again, Marisol was frankly quite impossible, changing her mind every three minutes. He dried some dishes still wet and put them in their respective places, until there was only one thing left on the kitchen counter: an adjustable spanner. Martin smiled, then understood. Marisol was quite impossible alright, so impossible she barely understood herself, but there were some things which were undeniable about her. Purple lilacs and an adjustable spanner. He took a scarf and hurried downstairs.

He searched for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. Probably gone. He should’ve thought of it, but still felt blue when he walked back towards his building, without having told her that it didn’t matter, that they should have a thousand dates, not just the one she had left. Without having kissed her once again. But then, a voice caught his attention.

“Martin!” The voice said.

“Marisol?” He asked, hopeful.

“Yeah, come here.” Martin didn’t know if he’d dreamt Marisol’s voice or it was real, but he obliged. The voice urged him to walk a couple blocks, until he found himself in front of a school. The fence was open and so was the front door. Marisol’s voice called from inside.

“We’re a bit grown up for hide and seek, aren’t we?” Martin said, but Marisol’s voice insisted, and he walked in.

 

Marisol was a bit lost, couldn’t quite remember where exactly was the subway station, and as dark as it was, she preferred to find it on her own instead of trying her luck at asking for directions. She then decided to go back to Martin’s place and ask him to walk her to the station or something. As she walked back, she passed in front of a school, which caught her attention because the fence was open. She walked past the fence, curious; to notice one of the main entrance’s doors was also open. Just as she touched it to push it, a voice called.

“Marisol.” It was Martin’s.

“Martin is that you?”

“Of course it’s me, come inside.” She hurried into the building as fast as she could on high heels. _Gods, it’s uncomfortable_ , she thought. _Why would anyone want to use these?_ She looked around, but she couldn’t find Martin. The voice called out again, this time from further into the corridor. “I’m inside, come here!” Marisol hesitated. Why would Martin be inside the building? Then again, maybe he was just playing. Maybe he had followed her. Maybe he wasn’t angry at her for her tardiness in love anymore. Just as if reading her thoughts, the voice yelled again. “Come on, Marisol, I’m not mad anymore, just come here.” She grinned.

“Alright, but it’s very kinky of you to lead me towards a dark building full of empty classrooms.” She said, walking deeper into the empty, dark school. The building was huge, and the lockers at both sides of the hallway looked new. The floor shone like it had been meticulously polished, which made Marisol snort. Psycho janitors. “Martin?” She called.

“Right here.” His voice said, coming from two big doors, which had a sign at the side that read ‘Cafeteria’. Marisol stepped carefully inside, looking for Martin. It was so dark in there, she could barely see.

“Dark room, okay, I can do that. Very surprising, coming from you, but okay.” She said. When he didn’t say anything, she sighed. “I know you’re just messing with me, I deserve it, got it.” Martin didn’t answer again. She felt cold and a bit nervous. “Martin, you’re scaring me. I’m not very fond of the dark, you know?” She tried to hide the fear in her voice, without much success. Suddenly, the only ray of light that bathed the room disappeared, as the cafeteria’s doors shut behind her. She yelped. “Martin this ain’t funny at all. I’m sorry, okay? I really am. Is this a test? This _is_ a test... right? Say something!” The fear crept into her and her hands flickered on, trying to see something. What she illuminated, though, wasn’t what she was expecting to see. A big ugly face with just one eye was bending to look at her, and it was just a few centimetres from her own face. Her hands flickered off.

“Okay, not Martin. Good to know.” She retreated towards the doors, or at least where she remembered them to be, but the cyclops made her trip. She couldn’t see a bloody thing.

“Hello, Marisol.” Martin’s voice said, but she knew it came from the monster. She cursed. These things rarely happened to her. She had very little godly blood, monsters usually couldn’t smell her. The cyclops had probably caught Martin’s _eau de demi-dieu_ , now she had spent the whole day at his place. _Wonderful_ , she realised. _I learnt French, but didn’t manage to remember cyclops can mimic voices. Outstanding, Valdez_.

She wanted to scream, but decided that if she moved around the cafeteria, she could have some advantage trying to hide, being it so dark. She stepped aside, and crushed a table. The cyclops kept calling for her.

“Marisol, come to me.” She crawled under the table and prayed to all the gods for the cyclops not to find her. She hoped he wasn’t very bright. She crawled further, and was relieved to find a wall. She turned and felt something at her side and made a muffled cry, as she bit her bottom lip not to scream. A voice shushed her. Martin’s. She stumbled backwards, retreating from it. She had just crushed the cyclops. But a hand caught her wrist, and as she struggled to break free, it brought her forward. She found herself against someone’s chest. Martin’s. She sobbed with relief, and he shushed her again.

“He’s going to find us, keep quiet.” He murmured, and Marisol nodded, even if she couldn’t see a thing. She searched for his face with her hands, and Martin’s helped her. She felt immediately calmer when she felt his strong jaw and the soft skin around his eyes; his soft hair. She thought how happy she was that he was there, that she wasn’t alone facing that monster. Martin cursed, because he couldn’t stand the thought of them both being doomed. Marisol was relieved, and her relief brought her calm. As calm made its way through her, so did courage. And so did the useful thoughts.

“I’ll get us out of here.” She told Martin in her lowest voice.

“Don’t be foolish, we’re weaponless. Our best shot is to get to the doors and run.” But Marisol wasn’t listening; she was getting off her celestial bronze anklet, as it morphed into her sword, _Anávo_ , which is Greek for kindle.

“A Valdez is never weaponless. When you see an opening, run for it.” She thought for a second how, if she messed up, she’d never get her fourth date. She made up her mind and kissed him goodbye, already stepping out the table’s protection. She stood up. “I will take care of it.”

“Marisol, no!” He tried to stop her, but it was already too late. Her hands caught fire, and made firm the grip on her sword.


	8. A flower's flame

> “ _I want_
> 
> _To do with you what spring does with the cherry trees_.” –Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.

“Sorry to make you wait, single-eyed. I always like to make myself interesting.” The cyclops growled. He was even more horrible now she could see it completely. He was around eight feet tall, covered in dirt and had his hair braided with things that looked like bones, which made her decide she didn’t want to ask. He wore a neon green Hawaiian shirt and shorts, which gave a clear sight of his hairy legs and disgusting feet.

“My name isn’t single-eyed. It’s Sheldon.” Marisol held back the laughter.

“What I needed. One of Poseidon’s offspring who went berserk.” Apparently, the cyclops wasn’t happy to be reminded of his father, because it made an angry noise.

“Pretty girl, I’ll make a nice stove out of you.” Marisol rolled her eyes.

“I don’t deny the fact that I would give you a way better breath. Yours stinks right now.” Sheldon bellowed in rage and plunged a hand towards her. Maybe he was expecting to crash her like a bug; or, at least, break all her bones with a single slap, which she considered very possible. Only she had a sword, and had to protect Martin. She slashed at the cyclops, and he avoided her swing at the very lost second. The movement he made to miss her blade got her by surprise, and as he hit her, he sent her flying across the cafeteria, to discover it was wider than she expected. _Damn_ , she thought. Her body felt crushed.

“What a lame hit!” She yelled. “Even my _abuelas **[1]**_ can slap better than that!” The cyclops didn’t sound offended. “Did I mention one of them is dead?” She spoke for Esperanza, because she knew nothing about Calypso’s mother. Marisol got up, cursing for the high heels ( _seriously, who could fight in high heels?_ ) and charged again, but this time, two seconds before slashing, she willed her hands off. The cyclops couldn’t see her, and she cut his legs. Sheldon howled in pain. The lights flickered on. She turned around, and saw Martin, with two flower pots and a charming smile.

“You know, babe, I appreciate the gesture, but this is no time for flowers.” She said. Martin grinned, but his smile faded rapidly as he tried to warn her, she felt the excruciating pain of her broken ribs first, as the cyclops hit her again. Martin put the flower pots on the floor and creepers began growing from it. They tied around Sheldon, bringing him down. Marisol was up soon enough, but the effort it meant made her wince.

“Let me go!” Sheldon complained. “You’ll regret this!” He threatened, though he was in no position to threaten anyone. Now there was light, she saw her dress tattered and completely ruined. New rage crept into her.

“You don’t know how _hard_ I tried to look nice for today. You don’t get to ruin my mother’s dress and get away with it!” She ran towards the cyclops, almost tripping various times, due to her heels. She muttered a curse before slaying Sheldon’s head off. The monster turned into a pile of golden dust and Marisol fell to her knees. She’d never been more scared in her life. Martin hurried to her side, and knelt beside her.

“Maddie, you okay?” Worry and love swam in his eyes. Nothing like putting your life at risk to make your boyfriend forget he was ever angry at you. She hugged him and sobbed in his shoulder, until she felt steady. She pulled her head back, and before she could say anything, Martin kissed her. Right, kissing Martin was nice; _very_ nice. She’d almost forgotten it. The hurried kiss she’d given him before hadn’t been half as nice as the one he was giving her now. There was Martin and the flutter inside her when he touched her. There was Martin and what she felt for him. There was Martin and her love for him. She could’ve died and he wouldn’t have known she loved him. She got apart, ready to tell him, but flinched.

“What’s wrong?” Martin asked.

“Ribs. Broken.” Was all she could manage to say.

“Let me take you home.”

“That would be nice, yes.” He helped her up, and offered her a piggyback ride, which she took without many complaints. They were on their way to the subway when Marisol dared to speak again. The subway made her realise he was taking her to her place. She couldn’t find the courage to tell him she loved him. The rush of a near death experience was gone, yet not the certainty.

“That one,” she began, “was a terrible date.” Martin laughed, and Marisol felt her ribs killing her as Martin’s ribcage shook under her. But she said nothing because, duh, he was carrying her, and she did not want him to put her down. She was okay there with his strong, wide back all for herself.

“Even so...” Martin hesitated for a moment. Was he glad by the way things had turned out? “I think you stole my—”

“Wait. No.” Marisol rushed herself to say. “I don’t think I deserve to win you over by a completely accidental battle.”

“Love is accidental, yet not an accident.” Martin sighed. “Let’s not repeat this morning’s conversation, please.”

“I want to know I got out of probation for being able to charm you during a date, not for standing in front of a monster and slaying it in half.” Martin smiled, even though it was almost the same as that morning.

“You stood in high heels, though.”

“Don’t remind me so, I feel like I sprained my ankle or something.” She cackled, but the sound stopped rapidly, because her ribs sent a distress signal right away. “Martin. I’ll give you a proper date and I’ll make you fall for me all over again.”

“I already have, Marisol. But I’m looking forward it, if that’s how you want it to be.” He said, and they went the rest of the way in silence. She didn’t mind when Martin offered to help her, mainly because she had some broken ribs and that hurt as Hades. He took her upstairs and fed her some ambrosia, which tasted like the hot chocolate Martin had done the morning after his birthday. They sat on her couch, and she was feeling a bit groggy from the energy that was being channelled from her to repair her broken ribs. Martin wasn’t leaving, even though it was very late, and had she had the energy, she would’ve told him it was late. But she didn’t.

“Where did you leave your sword?” Martin asked, brushing her hair, softly, as she laid her head on his lap. Her breathing was slow and steady; calm.

“My anklet, it turns into my sword. Anávo has been my best forge so far, and I carry it always with me.” She smiled. “I told you, a Valdez is never weaponless.”

“But if I take your anklet right now, you’d be defenceless.”

“Against you I have other weapons... there’s no need to fight. I think my best chance is to ask for a truce, you’d like that better.” Martin smiled.

“But, against a monster?”

“I already told you, Martín. I’m a Valdez, I’m never weaponless. My best weapon is my intellect, and that’s something you cannot take away from me. I see things were others don’t, and I assemble them. I’m awesome that way.”

“You are humble that way, too.” He joked, but Marisol was fighting hard to keep her eyes open, so there was no comeback. “I thought you were never going to call me Martín again.” He confessed.

“You called me Maddie after I defeated that cyclops quite flawlessly. Now we’re even, pretty boy.” Martin thought it safe now, so he leaned and kissed her temple. Whatever she could’ve done as a reaction to that, her sleep took it away, because she was no longer awake.

“It doesn’t bother me anymore.” He told her, while she slept. “I’ll always be Martín for you, as you’ll always be my odd chocolate cosmos.” His eyelids felt heavy as well, and he dozed off seating on the sofa, with her head on his lap, his hand lifeless on her hair, as he caressed it until he drifted to Morpheus’s domain.

Martin woke up at midnight, his neck was stiff and when he moved his head, pain ran through him. Brilliant. He didn’t recognise the place immediately, but when he saw Marisol sleeping peacefully on him, he didn’t mind. If she was with him, then it was okay. He was startled to notice Marisol was crying in her sleep.

“I can’t lose him.” She muttered, grabbing his sweater in her fist, like trying to get a grip onto anything, something to reassure her. “I could’ve died and he wouldn’t have known. How do I tell him? Red roses?” _I love you_. He thought; his pulse racing. She was mainly mumbling, but her words were quite clear. “It’s easy to say so if you’re a pink elephant.” Martin chuckled. That time when they’d fallen asleep together watching Star Wars, Marisol had kicked him and had snored with a muffled and low sound, like a congested kitten. He didn’t know she also talked asleep. He smiled and went back to sleep, thinking it wasn’t fair, because Marisol Valdez could steal his heart with her eyes shut, and not being even conscious. But he was also relieved because, at least in her dreams, he had stolen hers.

 

Martin woke up to a still pained neck, but there was no longer a light weight on his legs. He searched with his eyes around the room, and caught movement in the kitchen. He walked there, to find Marisol recently showered, her hair still dripping wet, making pancakes. She smelled hard of plum now, the scent invading all the space around her.

“Morning” he said. She turned, and oddly blushed when she saw him.

“Hi” she said, shyly, which made Martin frown.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling better?”

“It’s nothing. Yeah, thank you. I’m so sorry you had to stay for me last night.” She flipped the pancake just by shaking the pan. _Seriously_ , he thought. _I thought that flipping pancakes midair was a TV trick, how does she even manage?_ Marisol finished the pancake and let it slip off the pan over a pile of other pancakes on a plate. She poured more dough onto the pan and another pancake began taking form.

“It’s cool. You had broken ribs; I couldn’t just leave you here.” He ripped a piece off a pancake and ate it, not without Marisol’s hand slapping his, trying to stop him. “There’s no one in my apartment anyways. No one noticed I didn’t spend the night there.”

“No touching the food before it’s served.” She warned, and he smiled. “Isn’t your dad with you any other day during the year but for Christmas?”

“He only comes on the twenty five, since he’s able to close the flower shop for a day. He does have a lot of work these days, and not much calm before February. February is always chaotic.” Marisol finished the last pancake and put a fair amount of them on two plates and took them to the dining room. Martin followed.

“Why is February so chaotic?” She said, setting the maple syrup on the table and sitting.

“Well, you know. Valentine’s day.” Marisol recognised the stupidity of her question and nodded.

“Of course, Valentine’s day. My parents make a big deal of it.”

“They do?” Martin poured syrup on his pancakes.

“Oh yeah, they take the day out and all.” She took a bite of pancake and swallowed. “I prefer it that way. Not like I want to see my parents being cuddly and making out all day.”

“You are not one to have a say on the matter, since you’re not exactly an example of shyness and secrecy.” She blushed again and Martin stared, blanched, wondering what had gotten into her. Maybe it had to do with her half-asleep rumbles.

“Shut up.” She said, and he didn’t mind having breakfast in silence, counting how many were the lashes in her eyes.

“Do you have anything planned for today?” He asked Marisol.

“No. Why should I?” Then she realised. “Oh, well, not exactly. I thought it would be fine for me to prepare something... more elaborate, you know?”

“More elaborate than pancakes for breakfast?” He was surprised. “Well, that’s a shame. I wanted to count this one as the third date. Or at least get the fourth soon.”

“You’re being way too anxious for that last date. Aren’t you supposed to act distant and pretend I have very few possibilities of taking you back?” Martin laughed.

“I was willing to do so, but you make it very difficult, risking your life to protect me and so.” Marisol looked away.

“I already told you I don’t want that to count.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that it happened. Like that walkie talkie conversation late at night.” _Like that mumbling in your sleep last night_ , he added in his mind. Martin rested his hand on hers. “Come on, Marisol. Take me out today. I want to date you again, I miss dating you.” To this, Marisol blushed so intensely, Martin thought for a second maybe she was feverish from the broken bones.

“Alright.” She gave up. “I’ll pick you up at five. Now get the Hades out of my flat, so I can plan a great date.” Martin smiled.

“It doesn’t need to be great.”

“Yes, it does. Because I hurt you and I need you to know I’m worthy of you. I have to make clear that I’m sorry and I’m capable of being serious about this. I told you I’m all in, and you made me realise that I need to prove it, not just—”

“Marisol.” Martin was standing by her chair then and she stood up out of reflex. “Can I please count all of this as the third date?”

“Okay, if you want it so bad. Why?” Martin smiled sideways and Marisol almost forgot to breathe. He never grinned playfully like that.

“So I can kiss you goodbye.” He held her face with one hand and kissed her sweetly, just as always, three seconds of absolute unreality to her. “Goodbye, Maddie. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.” She managed to say, and she stood there, dazed, until a couple minutes after he had left. “Damn you, pretty boy.” She muttered to herself.

 

She was terribly nervous, and she cursed Martin in her thoughts, because she betted he was never this troubled before a date. He didn’t have to do anything, he was a natural romantic, and took away her heart with every glance. She didn’t have it so easy. She still didn’t know what she’d done to make him fall for her, how she’d done it. She’d been utterly annoying most of the time, and that couldn’t conquer anyone’s heart.

She parked the motorbike and jumped off, accommodating her knitted hat, trying to calm herself down. It was going to be alright. She didn’t have time to enter the building, because Martin opened the door just as she pulled it open. It was a cold afternoon, forcing them to wrap up more carefully. Marisol couldn’t help to notice how nice scarves suited him.

“Hey” Martin said. “You didn’t give me time to make it look like I’ve been waiting outside forever.” Martin complained.

“That’s cheating.” She answered, holding up the bouquet she had in her right hand. “I was supposed to knock your door, so you could put these safe from the cold.” Martin was clearly surprised. The unsaid rule of only guys being able to give flowers hadn’t stopped her from giving him yet another bouquet. Now, most guys would’ve been awkward and confused receiving flowers not only one, but two times. But Martin was a child of Demeter, and he knew to appreciate flowers. He liked them; he enjoyed them and most importantly, he understood what they meant.

“Tulips.” He recognised, and his eyes shone, enthusiastically.

“Yeah, tulips.”

“Tulips” he insisted. If Marisol knew what tulips meant, she didn’t let on. The bouquet was quite feminine, with its pink and red tulips, but Martin didn’t mind.

“Tulips, yes. Now, shall we go? Or are you going to go back upstairs put those ones in water?”

“Let’s go. They’ll stand a bit of cold.”

They drove all the way to Central Park, where that year they had put an ice ring. Martin looked at the ring suspiciously. Several couples enjoyed the opportunity to ice skate and plenty children tried to learn and failed or succeeded, depending on their luck or skill. Christmas lights were shining on every tree. He had thought of taking Marisol out in the middle of all that Christmassy spirit, but now they were finally in the middle of it, he couldn’t quite believe it. It was the day after Christmas, but right there, it looked as if Christmas had come to stay that year. He looked at Marisol, hoping to find some clue in her face about what were they doing there, but she simply stared at the ice ring with dreamy eyes.

“Are we going to watch how people ice skate?” He asked. Marisol laughed.

“No, silly. That’d be terribly boring. We’re going in.” Martin gave her an alarmed look, and she dragged him to rent the skates. Martin seemed weary of the ice. The tulip bouquet waited on the motorcycle.

“Come on!” She insisted. “It’ll be fun!”

“I don’t know how to ice skate” he admitted.

“Me neither. We gotta try.” And so, between smiles from Marisol, and slight fear from Martin they entered the ice ring. Marisol fell just as she stepped on the ice. Martin’s struggle to help her up without falling himself was most hilarious. After a couple loops, Martin stood his ground confidently, and slid swiftly on the ice. He was a natural. Marisol, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky, gliding a couple metres just to fall again.

“It isn’t fair!” She exclaimed, frustrated. “I just can’t do it!” Martin stopped beside her, and helped her up. He held her hands, to find them slightly cold for the first time, the ice of the ring putting her fire-heated temperature to test.

“Maddie, it’s okay. Come on, I’ll help you.” With Martin there helping her, she improved quickly, but whenever he let go, she fell almost instantly.

“I’m a mess.” She cried once they were outside, as she took off the skates and changed them for her combat boots. Martin smiled.

“I think you’re cute when you have to depend on someone else.”

“I ache all over for having to depend on someone else. I bet those falls will leave some nasty bruises.” She was moody for her failure at ice skating, and Martin had to hide how much it amused him. She bought them chocolate and Martin only let her because after that date, he’ll never let her pay anything ever again. They sat on a bench, despite the cold, and drank the hot chocolate calmly. Martin passed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in, so she wouldn’t be cold.

“It’s hot!” Martin complained when he took a sip. Marisol giggled.

“Of course it’s hot. It’s called _hot_ chocolate, you know?” He glared at her, but didn’t say anything when she rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Martín.”

“It’s okay; you were just being your usual annoying self.” Marisol shook her head.

“I’m sorry for leaving you when I did.”

“I thought we had already closed the subject.” She lifted her head and looked him in the eye.

“I needed to tell you in order to tell you another thing.” Martin arched an eyebrow.

“And what would that be exact—?”

“Tulips.” Martin’s pulse began racing again.

“Tulips.” He repeated.

“Yes, tulips. They are your favourite flowers, remember?” Martin grinned.

“I remember. What do you want to tell me, then? About tulips, I mean.”

“Well, what do they mean? Tell me what tulips mean.” Marisol’d her poker face on, her eyes hid whatever intention she had. She felt her throat dry, put she had to pull that off. It was her only shot.

“Well, if you give them to me, tulips mean I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

“And you are.” Martin’s expression softened.

“Why, thank you.” He took another sip of chocolate. “They also mean I’m perfect for you.”

“For anyone, really.”

“I’m happy you’re flirting with me again, but I’d explain way faster if you quit interrupting me.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He dared to kiss her crown, and then continued. “And if red, they also are...” he doubted.

“They are what?” She insisted. Martin’s heart was so accelerated he feared for it to drum his chest too loud.

“They are a declaration of lo—”

“I love you.” Martin fell silent and stared at Marisol, not knowing if he’d heard her right. Once the words were out, Marisol noticed how nice was to speak them aloud, how they eased her, and made her feel free of the torment of not being able to get them out of her system. Now they existed, now they were real, and now she was no longer their slave.

“What—?”

“I said I love you, Martin Windflowers. I love you, Martín. I love you, pretty boy. I love you, I love you, I love—” Martin shushed her with a kiss, and Marisol was like a wave. She first collected herself and got to know what was going on. Then she let go and crushed the shore, reaching out for more. Martin took a deep breath, passing his hands through her loose hair, hiding them under her knitted hat.

“Don’t say it so many times. I think I’m going to pass out if I hear you say it once more. I can barely take it if you say it once.”

“I love you” she tried, and Martin blushed slightly.

“I know.” He said, with a faint smile. Marisol looked at him with shy eyes, and looked down.

“Don’t go all Han Solo on me. That tactic was for before me, you don’t get to use it now. Do you still—?”

“Love you?” She looked away, dreadful, and Martin chuckled. “Marisol, there’s no moment I stopped loving you. I was angry and hurt, true. But if I ever felt that way, was because I cared, and I care. Because I love you too, Maddie.” Marisol lit up then, the way fire does. Weakly at first, to turn suddenly bright and full of strength.

“Am I your girlfriend again and not just your date?” Marisol checked, and Martin cracked up.

“Yes, you are my girlfriend again.”

“You look happy.” She noted.

“You too.” Marisol smirked.

“Well, had I known the secret to your happiness was tulips, I’d have given to you sooner. What does it take to get you laid?” She teased. Martin shook his head.

“You are a tricky being. You just said you love me, take it easy.”

“The rest of the masculine population don’t understand your caution.” Martin laughed.

“The rest of the masculine population don’t understand about treasuring.”

“I want to feel treasured _that_ way.” Marisol tried again, Martin gave her a look that said ‘You won’t give up, will you?’ and Marisol didn’t look away.

“Soon.” She tried to hide her impression, since a ‘Soon’ was very different from the ‘Eventually’ he’d given her first.

“How soon?” Martin laughed.

“Easy there, little grasshopper. What about we take a little walk before it becomes too cold to be outside?” Marisol made a doubtful face.

“Do I get any kisses?”

“As many as you want.” He promised.

“Then let’s go.” She stood up, and Martin stood behind her. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into a kiss. “I’ve missed you.” He kissed her again.

“And I’ve missed you, Maddie.”

 

It was New Year’s Eve. They had no one to share it with, but each other. The past days, Marisol hadn’t let go. She’d managed to get into his apartment and had slept on the couch against his wishes, only to jump over him every morning. Whenever he’d complained about it, Marisol had smiled slyly.

“Is it because of morning boners?” She’d giggled. “You know I’d gladly help you get rid of them, don’t you?”

“Marisol!” He cut her the two times she used the same tactic. But he had to put up a real fight against her and her wishes, because they were half of his wishes as well. He actually didn’t know what he was waiting for anymore. He’d been about to have sex with her the day everything had crumbled to pieces. If she hadn’t been scared of not being able to say ‘I love you’ they’d be way past sex by now. Maybe it was that. The fact that he’d almost lost her then. It was most probably that. Even so, now he was upon the moment. He knew what was about to happen, because Marisol did not care for being subtle. Oh, she didn’t care at all.

He hesitated at the door. He knew when he knocked it; he wouldn’t have any control of the situation. He thought of Marisol. Of Marisol, looking beautiful for his prom. Marisol, messy and perfect working on cars. Marisol, slaying Sheldon, the cyclops. Marisol, falling asleep after a Star Wars marathon. Marisol, teasing him, jumping to kiss him and hang from his neck. He thought of her furious and slightly intimidating, but mostly shocking deep dark eyes and they way she was beating Evan pretty effortlessly when he’d showed up for sword skills class. Thinking back on it, he was certainly guilty of all of this happening, because the gentle dark eyes from the contrary team that had checked on him during capture the flag were the same onyx eyes he saw inside the Hermes cabin when he went there to talk to Sebastián.

“Is that your sister?” He’d caught himself asking him as those eyes fixed on him to then drift away, uninterested.

“Yeah, everybody’s pain.” He smiled, and Martin knew he didn’t really mean it. But Martin didn’t pay attention to her brother’s joking, he just paid attention to the confirmation to his thought, his mind recollecting the admiration he felt for those eyes, the way they’d taken the time to check on him before capturing the flag and disappearing with it. It had been an honour to lose to her. And yes, he had been always mocked by his friends to learn how to use a weapon. A spear, a bow, whatever. Not necessarily a sword. Yet he knew he would find those eyes. Indeed he found them, beating easily their practise partner. Indeed he found them, part of a face... of a girl who was completely unexpected. Quick, witty, flirtatious. Marisol hadn’t been what Martin had expected, but their meeting was an appointment in time and space he fixed himself, when he obsessed over those merciful eyes and wanted to know more about them. He wanted to find the gentleness they had once gifted him. I’ve found them, he thought, as he dropped his knuckles against the door, knocking. I’ve found the dark almond eyes and the kindness in them. The door swung open.

 

Two days before, December the twenty ninth, it had been Martin’s turn to make breakfast. Marisol had refused to leave his apartment and he feared for his T-shirts. Just as his camp T-shirt, Marisol was very capable to steal other ones as well. And he didn’t exactly have clothes to spare. He didn’t mind having her around, though. He’d missed her, a lot, and being able to reach out for her tiny shape whenever he felt like it was something he was enjoying very much. Marisol was still on the couch, asleep. The blanket was over the coffee table, and her congested-kitten-like snores where only audible if you kept very quiet. He thought it was a good thing, considering he wouldn’t know if he’d fancied her to snore any louder. The way she did was cute and loud enough for it not to ruin the cuteness of it. He had to admit Marisol had improved his cooking, too. Now he could make decent tea and coffee, and crunchy (but not burnt) toasts. He had to brew tea, due to Marisol’s weird habits. _Tea for breakfast_ , he thought the first time. _What does she think she is, British?_ But she explained it to do with her mother not allowing her to drink coffee when she was little so she got used to tea instead. It was nevertheless still weird.

He poured tea into a cup, coffee into another one. He was about to pick up the toasts from the toaster when he felt the dreadful feeling of someone ready to jump on him.

“Don’t.” He warned, as he turned around to find Marisol, who’d been half a second away from jumping on him, to let herself hang from his neck. To her, that activity must’ve been fairly fun, but to him it was mainly painful. Not in the moment, but the aching muscles around his neck a few hours after were annoying enough for him to prefer Marisol to stay on the ground.

She looked especially dazzling that morning. That was the first thing that came to his mind. She stood on tip toe and patted his shoulder, and he bent, instinctively.

“Morning” she whispered to his ear, sleepy, before kissing him good morning.

“Morning” he said back, and Marisol took his hand in hers.

“Come.” She demanded, pulling him.

“What about breakfast?”

“Not hungry yet.” She said, and walked them to his room. She fell on his bed, still undone, and pulled the covers over her. Martin chuckled.

“Did you bring me here to watch you sleep?” She moved to make room for him, and patted the empty space.

“It’s still early, let’s sleep.”

“Come on, Marisol, it ain’t that early.”

“Lazy morning.” She announced. Martin shrugged, but obliged, not without feeling that slight nervousness that creeps into absolutely every teenager to the situation of sleeping with the girl they’re in love with. He slid under the covers, trying to escape the cold that was visible out the window. Marisol held to his back, and he was sure she dozed off immediately, but he just couldn’t fall asleep. The idea of Marisol there, the fact that it was morning... his brain was already working full time to make it believe it was time for a nap. He turned around to, at least, check which kind of face was Marisol making in her sleep only he found she was, well, not sleeping at all either.

“What about lazy morning?” He asked.

“I can’t help to think that—”

“What?”

“I’d like to...” she said nothing, she drew the words on the space between them, stopping midsentence, her eyes sparkling tenderly when she reached for his head with both hands and traced his hairline with gingerly fingers. Martin closed his eyes, that bubbly feeling creeping into him. He felt like he was in a swing, all the way down, his stomach fluttering, nervous. Marisol happened to him like a shooting star, beautiful, exciting, and marvelling; yet so, so brief. He wished he could make her last, last for at least a little forever. He breathed her in. Plum shampoo, the muffled and distant scent of motor oil, almost inexistent. He felt her fingertips, gentle but of rough texture, the fingers of a mechanic, a blacksmith. He caught her hands in his, rubbing her fingers between his, trying to make the sensation of those calloused hands one unforgettable to him. And distracted as he was, she found his lips, numb, absent at first. Lazy. Then he felt her, so near. So close to last a little forever. He held her waist, and she climbed on top of him, without Martin even noticing. His fingers played absent-mindedly with the hem of Marisol’s shirt. _His_ shirt, actually, but whatever. Unaware of the ideas that single movement sent across his passionate and seductive girlfriend’s mind. Marisol smiled, then got apart and took her shirt off, in a single graceful movement. Martin’s eyes were still closed, ignorant of the view in front of him. His hands warned him, though, when she kissed him again, and his hands on her hips found no hem, no shirt. They went up on silky, creamy skin, and his eyes fluttered open, surprised, to find her grinning mockingly. His eyes drifted uncontrollably away from her face to the black fabric and lace over her chest. Her bare chest, and bare shoulders, and bare abdomen and bare back; just a piece of fabric over her breasts, which were delicately small, big enough not to pass for a little girl’s, but somehow elegant in their size. Bigger breasts would’ve been out of place in Marisol’s thin and small complexion.

“I am irreparably in love with you, Martín.” She announced, as his eyes met hers again, and their lips got together, Martin’s hands kindly tracing the new, bare skin. His caresses were sweet and made her skin tingle, and it felt just so good. Loving Martin was like eating chocolate. Melting, creamy and pleasuring. He stopped, and sighed with what Marisol recognised as disappointment.

“What’s wrong, _guapo_?” She asked. Maybe she’d been too overeager taking her shirt off herself, maybe Martin just wasn’t in for it yet. But she saw his red face and understood that wasn’t it.

“I don’t have any condoms.” And just like that, the instance was gone. He felt bad, like he’d spoiled everything for her.

“Of course you don’t.” She wanted to slap herself for being so stupid. Martin was a nice guy; he wouldn’t be expecting to have sex with her just because she was sleeping at his place. He wasn’t the kind of guy who has a stack of condoms in his bedside table drawer, or the kind of guy who carries a condom in his wallet.

“I’m sorry.” He apologised. She passed a hand through his hair, lovingly, before resting it on his cheek.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Martín.” She rolled to his side, cuddling into him. “I should’ve thought of it. In some ways, it’s nice to know you don’t have any.”

“Why?” He asked, calmer now, the panic of the moment slipping away.

“Because all these days of me staying over, and you didn’t plan to get lucky. Tells me how much you enjoy my sole company. Plus, shows me how attentive you are as well, caring for safety, being sincere. I rush myself into things so eagerly, so easily, I would’ve gone all the way without a condom hadn’t you stopped to tell me there weren’t any.” She kissed his shoulder, over his pyjama shirt. “You’re a good guy, Martín. You do me good. You make me stop.” She used his arm as a pillow, and played with the neckline of his shirt.

Martin realised he had been wrong. She did not want them to be perfect. She never idealised love or what they had. She just thought them different, wanted them to be different, and expected them to be different. Different was good, different was okay.

“I’m in love with you, Maddie.” He whispered, hugging her, kissing her crown.

“I’m in love with myself, too.” She teased, and his grin was wide and true. They stayed there, enjoying the lazy morning, Marisol content with what hadn’t happened, Martin starting to think that maybe he wasn’t such a good guy. He couldn’t get out of his head the ‘What if’. Real, distant, tormenting ‘What if’.

What ifs revolved around the cup of tea and the cup of coffee, that didn’t feel lonely since they had the toasts, burnt by the dying heat of the toaster which still hosted them. It was a messed up breakfast, cold tea and cold coffee. Burnt toasts. Or wasn’t it? Is a terrible breakfast still terrible if there’s no one to notice it? Because what ifs revolved around it, but it stood there, forgotten, after much past breakfast time.

 

Marisol had done waffles with marmalade for breakfast, and after that they laid on the couch, legs tangled. Marisol’s head rested on Martin’s chest, and she liked the way she could feel his heartbeat and his respiration. His diaphragm expanding and contracting his ribcage as air made it in and out his lungs. She liked the peaceful pillow Martin was. He had his hands on her hair, braiding it, and he knew Marisol wouldn’t be pleased when she found all the little braids in her hair, but he wanted to swim in the smell of plum from her shampoo, now faded into his own shampoo, which wasn’t a bad fragrance, either. He liked it a little more than just a lot. His mind wondered off to the previous morning, the way Marisol’s skin had felt under his careful grazes. He hadn’t been worried then, amid so much bronze skin. But now he thought of it, he couldn’t help to notice the easiness of Marisol about it all, and his only, shameless (he knew), theory was that Marisol knew exactly what she was doing. But you don’t ask a girl about it, you don’t. That’s why gentlemen don’t have a memory, so they don’t talk disrespectfully about their past acquaintances. That’s why ladies didn’t have a past, because they were damsels on the present, no matter what deal happened on the past.

“Maddie, you know, about yesterday...” she looked up, with a tiny sigh. She knew he would feel remorse.

“Martin is okay. I understand. You don’t have to be sorry, I dragged you into it, and I won’t do it again. You’ll call the shots.”

“No, I actually...” he hesitated, then blushed. “I actually was going to say I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to repeat it sometime.” Marisol grin was inevitable. Martin continued. “I just couldn’t help to notice...” She exhaled deeply, he hadn’t been able to say it but she got it anyways. Well. She had been expecting remorse, not insecurity.

“It’s an evident thing, Martín, that I’m not a virgin. I know how the theory turns into practise.” She eyed him, to be sure. “I hope you are okay with that. I never attempted to make it look like you were going to be my first.” Martin noticed how, in her eyes, it seemed she wanted for him to have been her first. _What had happened?_ “It was a stupid thing, and I let no boy get too close to me again, until I was beating up my dear friend Evan in sword skills class and this pretty boy walked in demanding a sword. I knew immediately he wasn’t my type. _Too nice_ , I thought. _Probably has been friendzoned his whole life_.”

“Ouch.” He complained.

“But Kristin told me that he was _exactly_ my type. The kind of boy I needed. So I began flirting with him. And the more I tried to get him, the more I began to like him. I liked the way he didn’t like flirts, the way he liked queen bees with soft voices and ladylike ways. The way he was too polite to tell me to go away, and the way he spent hours staring at flowers, watering them, taking care of them. I wanted to be one of the boy’s flowers, the ones he liked and cared about so much.” Martin smiled, and kissed her crown.

“You are the most important flower in my garden, Aster.” She grinned.

“I know. So, I obviously got the boy due to my undeniable charm and flirting skills. And I realised he was different. So much different, that I wanted for him to be close, to touch, to feel as much of me as he wanted. Because he held doors for me, and gave me bouquets. Because he really cared and got upset when he thought I didn’t.” She rolled to lie on Martin, looking him in the eye. “Because you are sincere and don’t make up condoms and you wait to make sure I’m truly sure of the things I’m doing.”

“So you _really_ want me to.”

“Yup.” She said, before leaving a brief kiss on his lips, then going back to rest her head in his chest. Raising and sinking. Back and forth.

“Huh.” Martin hadn’t been ignorant of the fact Marisol was up to getting laid whenever he felt like it, but getting to hear it so frankly and straightforwardly was an entirely different thing. At least for him.

“What about you?” She asked. “What’s your story?”

“I don’t have—” Marisol interrupted him.

“Crushes. The girls you’ve fell for.”

“Oh.” He swallowed. “Well, I had my first crush when I was four. I know because my dad found it very amusing to share the story with my Aunt Kylie every time we went to visit. Even though she already knew it.”

“Who did you fall for? Preschool’s queen bee?” She mocked.

“Ha. No. I fell for the ice cream shop lady. She always gave me extra sprinkles and my dad said I would spend all the money I got from my birthday, Christmas, and occasional kindness of him in ice cream. Even in winter. And when I didn’t have money, I would stand outside the shop with a heartbroken expression, looking at the ice cream lady.” Marisol giggled.

“Oh my gods that’s so cute, it sounds so much like you. If I offer you ice cream, do I win any extra points?”

“No mocking.” He warned.

“Okay. Go on.”

“The second girl I had a crush on was called Stacey. She wore her auburn hair braided and we attended kindergarten together.”

“What happened?”

“I left town. We were in school together until third grade, when I left for New York and the safety of Camp Half-Blood.”

“That’s awful.” She thought aloud. “Did she ever like you back?”

“I’ll never know.” Marisol pouted.

“Aw, come on, didn’t she give you a kiss on the cheek or something? A hug?”

“She gave me a very tight hug and said she wouldn’t forget me, but she never reached out for me.” Marisol heard the way he talked about her and couldn’t help herself.

“Which flower was her?”

“Why would she have to be a flower?” He knew it was pointless to ask, Marisol knew him that much. “She was a Tiger Lily.”

“And you were Peter Pan.” She sighed. “It’s such a pretty story; I don’t make half a good story myself.” Martin was about to say something, but she kept on talking. “So who was it?”

“Who was what?”

“Who kissed you first on the cheek?” _Was that really necessary?_ But the tone of her voice told him she wouldn’t drop the subject until she knew.

“Her name was Elise. She had green eyes like new spring grass, and her hair fell in perfect chocolate curls. I was her best friend for five years, until eighth grade, when she transferred to another school because her dad had lost a lot of money in a crisis and she could no longer attend private school.”

“She said goodbye with a kiss on the cheek?”

“Yeah, she said I was always her favourite and that she’d always keep me in mind.” He frowned. “I don’t think she meant it.”

“They all leave or get left behind.” She noted.

“Sorry?” He didn’t hear her well.

“I won’t leave you, Martin. Not ever.” Marisol promised. He smiled, and kissed her crown one more time.

“I know that now.” His grin went wider. “What do you want to do today?” He asked, going back to braid her hair.

“After I disentangle all of the braids you are definitely making with my hair?” He dropped his work. “I want to go home, actually. To make a few jobs in the repair shop and change into some real clothes.” He chuckled.

“I thought you liked my shirts.”

“I certainly do.” _They smell of you_ , she thought. “But I’d like to wear my stuff for a change.”

“Will you come back for tonight?” He asked, lately used to her presence.

“I will sleep at my place.” Martin seemed disappointed. “But you should come over tomorrow. Live in my room the days we’ve got left.” He thought of plum shampoo and her room with Shakespeare novels on a shelf.

“I’ll think of that.”

“Let me know when you’ve decided.”

Okay. And, Marisol?”

“Yes, Martín?”

“You make the best story I’ve ever had.” Marisol looked up to Martin and crawled up to kiss him. Love was so easy with Martin.

 

And that’s how, more or less, he ended up standing nervous in front of her apartment’s door, watching it fly open. What he saw confused him terribly. Marisol looked sleepy, and was still wearing her messy overall from the repair shop. She did not seem conscious of it. Her ponytail was loose and half undone, and she did not look like she’d been expecting him.

“Hey babe, I didn’t know you were coming... but nevermind, come in.” Music was playing somewhere in the flat, Marisol’s room, Martin guessed. _Carol_ by The Rolling Stones played loud and cheerful. Martin walked in; a bit troubled by the plastic bag he had in one hand. He stood awkwardly inside, distracted by Marisol’s soft looks. _Sleep suits her_ , he thought.

“So, you didn’t know I was coming over?” He was in complete disbelief. She’d probably planned all of this, to make him even more uncomfortable.

“Well, we did talk about it yesterday, but we didn’t set a time. And two in the afternoon is a bit early, don’t you think?” She was already going through the fridge, looking for something to feed him.

“Marisol, it’s almost ten.”

“Ten past two? I know I took a tiny nap, but ten minutes doesn’t make much difference, pretty boy.” Martin sighed. It all made so much sense.

“Ten o’clock at night.” He explained. “You called me and told me to come ASAP.”

“TEN AT NIGHT?” She exploded, looking everywhere for a clock, until she found one. “Holy Hephaestus, I slept more than a tiny nap. And you said _I_ called you?” She slapped her face, looking out the window to notice it was, in fact, night. “Damn, did I mumble any nonsense?”

“You were sleep-calling?” He couldn’t believe his luck. Gods, how could he fix that?

“I think so. Why, what did I say?”

“Just two words.”

“Which ones?”

“Very specific ones.”

“Which ones?” She insisted.

“ _Coral rose_.” Marisol had the decency to blush, making Martin feel a little less out of place, since he was already red as a traffic light.

“Oh.” She sighed. “I’m so sorry Martin, I didn’t mean to.” _You didn’t mean what you said, or you didn’t mean to say them sleep-calling?_ He wondered. “I should change to celebrate New Year’s.”

“Or you could stay the same.” She only smelled a bit more of motor oil.

“Martín?” She glanced at the plastic bag hanging from his hand.

“Yes?” His fingers tingled. He felt so far away from her, standing in the kitchen’s doorway, Marisol still holding the fridge’s door open. She did not answer. She dragged him towards the living room, and placed her socked feet over the sofa, her hands over his shoulders for balance. “What are you doing?” He looked up to her, for the first time, curious.

“Getting to know how it feels to be the tall one.” She kissed him then. And Martin dropped the bag, the damn plastic bag. Her nose rubbed his from an upper angle, and he was not used to it, but he liked how it felt. How her kisses were even more violent and dominant this way, and how he had to be more gentle and dedicated to make the kiss steady; possible. Marisol took a breath, with a wide grin in her face.

“ _Ranunculus_.” She whispered. _I am dazzled by your charms_. He traced the shape of her clavicle, visible thanks to the wide neckline of the white tank top she used under the overall.

“Are you sure you were sleep-calling?” He asked, hopeful.

“Pretty sure.” She saw his uneasy look. “But it isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Maybe my subconscious took a chance I should, too.” Her eyes sparkled, and Martin’s mirrored hers.

“How so?” She smirked. She clapped, and all light went out. Even The Rolling Stones’ _Tell Me_ died. Only New Year’s New York’s lights formed their languid shadows on the carpet.

“What’s in that bag, Martín?” He looked away, embarrassed. “Well, just my luck. _Coral roses_ , Martín. Many _coral roses_.” _I want you_. She leaned again, liking being able to lean. She threw her arms around his neck, and Martin held her waist, so she wouldn’t take a chance to fall off the couch. Martin tried not to think, but his thoughts escaped him anyways. The lights were out. Marisol’s dark eyes seemed like magical torches in the middle of the dark. And she was, without a hesitation, making him forget every single consideration he should have. His hands didn’t ask him, they just travelled to her hips, and held them tight. She then made the grip around his neck stronger and suddenly her legs where wrapped around his hips. His hands had travelled to her thighs, holding her in her place. Her figure was numb and vague through the overall. He gasped for air, for clarity. Marisol’s eyes were on him, burning through him again.

“Is everything okay, Martín?” She asked.

“I don’t know.” He admitted.

“You don’t have to do this for me.” She told him, sweetly. “It has to be because you want it, otherwise I can make dinner and steal some champagne and we can say cheers for the New Year... and you could stay, just to lie beside me. Just to—”

“It’s not that, Marisol. I want, I’m just... insecure. I’m not sure it’s okay for me to want it. I’m not sure I can make it right.” Marisol batted her eyelashes slowly and magnetically. Again, how long were they?

“I want it too, so we can be not okay together.” She smiled, and his lips almost followed her grin. “It’s you. It’s me. It’s already right. There’s nothing any of us can do to un-right it.” Was it like she said? Was it not? He had missed her so much, the curve of her lips, the shade of her steps. The ghostly presence of her mouth. Was it bad to want her close? Was it good to want her to last... last her longest? Last for a little forever? “Make me bloom, Martín.” She whispered in his ear, and he felt himself melt. It wasn’t wrong. “Be my spring. Do me like spring does flowers.” It _couldn’t_ be wrong. He held her close, kissed her, first sweet, then instinct kicked in, and his own kind violence took place in the battlefield. He bent, ever so slightly, to pick up the plastic bag. The foreign observer plastic bag. He took the steps, but it was definitely Marisol who guided him through the dark, it was definitely her who had set the course. He was just following her warmth and her blinding light.

He placed her carefully on the bed. He did not want to damage such a perfect flower in any way. The plastic bag was forgotten once again, this time on the bedside table. The dragon lamp was flaming a warming light. He crawled to be on top of her, but he was tricked into being bottom. Marisol was born to top, her hands were crazy and happy and anxious. She did not know what to do with them first. She dug them into his hair, feeling its softness, and kissed him sweetly, like she rarely did. Eyes closed, just her lips onto his, a subtle promise of love. She retreated. Martin’s hands immediately held her in her place. Marisol giggled.

“I think this is on the way.” She said, sliding his hands off her, and stepping out to get rid of the overall. “Better this way, isn’t it?” She sat on him with her knees at his sides.

“You’re such a tease.” He accused her.

“I can be worse.” She warned. She unclasped her bra over her top and took it off without removing her tank top.

“You didn’t.” Martin said, in awe.

“I certainly did.” She kissed his neck then, and Martin’s nervous hands double traced everything. They taunted first, exploring with the fear of being told off. Then, reassured, they caressed it all over again. He found the bare sides of her chest, and he paused any move.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked. Marisol, tender and patient, smiled.

“Are _you_?” He smiled. Marisol had learnt how to creep into his heart and his world. She simply grew into you. She took off her shirt and Martin finally left his doubts and forgot about anything that wasn’t Marisol, and how she knew about flowers.

Maybe it was that, maybe it was the way she was so beautiful when flustered or the arousing colour her skin turned when she blushed. Maybe it was the hypnotising colour of her eyes. He wasn’t sure, but one thing was certain, and it was there was no doubt the timing was right, not a second before, not a second after. Manhattan was shining through the window, but no light in the city was as captivating as Marisol was to him.

The lamp of Festus the dragon ignited like Marisol’s hands, which flickered on and tickled Martin, gifting him the touch he would never want to lack off. He felt her, so he could imprint her figure in his mind. So his memories would be sealed by the curve of her waist, the crescent moon that rested there. Somewhere, far away, people cheered, and through the window, fireworks were a great scene. Marisol rested on his bare chest. Sheets were warm and soft.

“I’m in love with you, Marisol.” He let the truth out of his lips once again; his arms making her presence tighten on him.

“You won’t be when I burst into your dorm at uni.” She whispered.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you’ll never know when I’ll show up so you won’t be able to date any other girls.” Martin giggled.

“I don’t want any other girls, Aster.”

“That’s what you say now. But you’re so handsome and so perfect... you’re a perfect gardener. And so smart. Girls will be all over you and there’ll certainly be one that’s prettier, or smarter, or—”

“Marisol, I have eyes for no one but you. You are the sun that turned me into a freaking sunflower. My gaze only follows you. And when alone, my eyes stare at the floor, waiting for you.” Marisol grinned, and her fingers grazed a hickey she’d left on his neck.

“I like how it looks on you.” She teased.

“You are so incredibly mean, Maddie. What would’ve happened if it hadn’t been winter? I wouldn’t have been able to hide it with scarves and such.”

“People would’ve just known you are private property. And what an owner you must have.” She mocked. He chuckled, and silence followed. Marisol thought maybe he was asleep, but still reached out for him.

“Martín?”

“Yes?” He said, still holding her close. There’re some who believe that the way you spend New Year’s Eve, is how you’ll spend the year. Marisol liked the idea of spending the year loving Martin.

“Happy New Year.” She wished him.

“Happy New Year, Maddie.”

 

Even when after he actually left for uni, Martin kept his promise to be only in love with her. He missed her and her absence ached, her ghost gloomed in his dorm and the faint memory of her smile made any chance other girls could’ve had crush in an instant. He studied harder than ever, but nothing stopped him from dropping his books and loving Marisol whenever she visited. She always brought flowers and, sometimes, his birthday cake. She became known around his dorm’s building and quite a buddy of his roommate, who’d the delicacy of leaving them alone whenever Marisol visited. But it wasn’t until Martin’s studies were over that he actually dared to ask her the question that had been haunting him since that New Year’s Eve, the moment after, when her warmth was gone and only her shadow remained, untouchable, heartbreaking. Knowing he only had the graduation ceremony ahead, he called Marisol to that phone he’d forced her to get. It was so difficult to reach her when she disappeared on her road trips.

“Maddie?” He asked the phone, remembering the walkie talkie they used to talk through.

“What is it baby?” She was at a gas station on her way to New Mexico.

“Do you still dislike the idea of a white picket fence?” His hands were shaking, and hers stopped filling the bike’s tank.

“Yeah.” She almost whispered to the phone. He smiled.

“Well, that’s great, because my apartment doesn’t have any fences.” Marisol laughed.

“I’m almost to New Mexico; it’ll take me a while to be back.” She said.

“It’s that a yes?”

“That’s for you to find out.”

 

[1] Grandmothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very thankful to those who've stuck with this story until the end, I hope I've fulfilled your expectations and you like what I've worked on. I hope to see you soon in yet another story. Thanks for the company!


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